


Falling Forever

by SociallyIneptDork



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Family, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Tony Stark Friendship, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Domestic Avengers, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Eventual Happy Ending, Extremis Tony Stark, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Forgiveness, Guilt, Hurt, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, Jealous Steve, Loki & Tony Stark Friendship, M/M, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, Parent Tony Stark, Past Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Bruce, Redemption, Slow Burn, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Superfamily, Superfamily (Marvel), Team Bonding, Team Feels, Team as Family, The Author Regrets Everything, Tony Feels, Tony Stark & Thor Friendship, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Angst, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, can you imagine?, endgame is steve and tony, slowest of burns, they'll get there, will add more tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 23:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 67,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SociallyIneptDork/pseuds/SociallyIneptDork
Summary: Tony has had a hard day. Peter is in the medical ward, unconscious after getting injured during a mission. He doesn't think his day could get any worse until he finds out that it's also the day that the rogue Avengers will be moving back into the compound. Of course, as luck would have it, he finds this out by opening the door and seeing Steve face to face for the first time in more than half a year.





	1. We're Falling Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We're falling forever,  
> we're far from together tonight  
> The light at the tunnel is a runaway train  
> The stars that we wish on are only airplanes  
> The love that we're chasing is a heart break away  
> Cause we're picture perfect in a broken frame"  
> -Alex and Sierra, Broken Frame
> 
> The team is made to come home and Tony struggles to balance raising a teenager and dealing with their betrayal that haunts him.

Tony could not deny the shock that ran through his veins when he opened the door and saw who was standing on the other side. In hindsight, he should have listened to Friday.   
  
_ [“Sir, I really should warn you before you open the door-” Friday had tried, but Tony didn’t care who was on the other side, only how fast he could make them go away so he could go back to the medical ward and make sure that Peter was breathing. He muted her and told himself he’d feel guilty later for doing that to her. She'd come so far in her development that Tony learned the hard way she was capable of having her feelings hurt. And harboring a grudge. Cold showers at 5 am while on the way to a meeting? Not fun.] _ _   
_   
So needless to say he walked up to the door without any idea for the shock he was in for, his breath leaving for a second as he saw a familiar set of blue eyes.   
  
“What are you doing here?” Tony demanded- or that was what he'd planned on doing but his voice raised hardly more than a whisper, eyes belying the emotions coursing through every atom of his body. He couldn’t have expected the pulsing ache that went through him as he saw Steve Rogers standing there in front of the door with a duffel bag in hand and a baseball cap on, looking at him with those hesitant baby blues that used to show Tony the way home. Steve looked different, his bright eyes muted, his stance taking up less space than they'd used to before, back when…   
  
His time on the run must have taught him a few things about being invisible and trying to make yourself smaller to avoid conflict. Tony wondered if Steve suddenly felt like he did- unseen, unheard, invisible to everyone he came across, on the run from something that couldn't be outrun. Did things like this even affect the great American hero?   
  
Steve shuffled around a bit before he answered, taking in the sight of Tony as if he’d been away from him for a hundred years and not little more than half a year. “It’s... the day that we move in. The Accords-”   
  
The Accords. Of course. Tony had fought tooth and nail to keep the Avengers free and to amend the Accords so that they would be less of a rigid contract with a genie and more of a terms of service that could easily be tiptoed around if they knew what they were doing. It recognized enhanced individuals as humans who deserved rights and it was a way of giving them rights while also ensuring that these individuals were willing to work within the guidelines the government set for the protection of all people.   
  
And today was the day that the entire team of Avengers was scheduled to go back to the Avengers tower, staying under Tony’s “guidance and observation until further notice” as per the contract to make sure nobody would go rogue again. To make sure that nobody would break the rules and cause more destruction than necessary, they put Tony as the makeshift leader of the group that until now had been composed of him, the War Machine (Iron Patriot), Vision, and- unofficially- the Spiderling that Tony took under his wing. Until Steve earned the right back, Tony was technically in charge of the entire team.   
  
Which, of course, would mean absolute horseshit because it wasn't like any of the Avengers really gave a shit what Tony had to say when Steve Won't-Rest-Until-Justice-Is-Served Rogers was in the same room with his moral compass and his ability to detect evil a mile away.   
  
“Right, of course. You’re obviously here, where’s the rest of-” Tony didn’t say the word Avengers, didn’t dare to taste the bitter poison of the word, and he didn’t know whether he should call them your team instead or if that was something Steve Rogers would find hurtful. Tony just wanted to get out as fast as possible, everything else came in second.   
  
Steve seemed to understand though because he nodded. “They’re on their way from the van, sorting out baggage and belongings,” he responded and Tony nodded absently, looking around.   
  
“Okay, great, so Happy will sort all of you out with your own rooms and whatnot, Vision will be over the moon to be helpful after being restless for last few days, so if that’s all I’ll just-” he pointed behind him to show that he was going to bounce without saying it.   
  
“Tony,” Steve said with a sigh. “Please don’t… shut me out, I’m-”   
  
“No,” Tony cut in before Steve could go off on a sentimental rant about this. “No, we’re not doing this right now. We can’t do this right now because I have to go back to the medical ward right now- don’t take this personally, Cap, I’m fucking elated you got your head outta your ass but I have a boy upstairs that went sky-diving without a parachute and while tied to a boulder, so I really have to go.”   
  
Steve’s eyes were confused before Tony turned around and resolutely did not look back. If he looked back he might forget how to breathe, forget everything he'd forced himself to learn in the past few months, like  _ he isn't coming back _ and _ he isn't mine and never really belonged to me like I belonged to him _ .   
  
Peter was just as Tony had left him: unconscious, arms covered in bandages, breathing with an oxygen tube in because he was hardly breathing when Tony found him. The silence of the room was a stark contrast to the rest of the tower and the dull blue and gray colors gave the room a melancholy feeling. Tony sat back down on the seat he’d been occupying the entire time that Peter had been here, watching the boy’s chest rise and fall slowly. If he didn’t watch him breathe, Tony worried that he might stop.   
  
If Peter stopped, Tony would too.   
  
As he stared at Peter on the hospital bed, Tony’s thoughts began to wander to the part of his mind he tried to keep closed off, full of crushed dreams and overflowing guilt and heaps of trauma from decades' worth of betrayal and mistreatment. The fact that the Avengers would now be living in the same building hit him in the gut, a slow, steady thrum of blinding panic filling his lungs like ice water until he couldn't breathe, suffocating him.   
  
_ 1, 2, 3, 4… 1, 2, 3, 4… Inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale. For god's sake, let's not do this right now, alright? _ _   
_   
They’d be staying here. He’d see them every day on his way to get coffee and when he was going to his room or going to his car. He’d see them, all of them, and he’d remember the events he’d been trying his damnedest to avoid thinking about. They'd look at him with venom and hatred that he deserved. They'd spit vitriol that would always hit too hard because of who they came from, because in the mouth of anyone else it was okay but from his friends? His family? They would always be sharper than glass on their tongues.   
  
And he'd come apart like clay in the hands of a careless child. There wouldn't be enough of him left after that, wouldn't even be enough shattered pieces for him to try and pick himself back up.   
  
_ A dozen, a gross, and a score- _ he mentally recited, trying to center himself with numbers before he kept going down that route and lost himself completely. He couldn't do that right now. He couldn't be selfish right now. Peter needed him.   
  
All of them would be living together again for the first time in what felt like forever. When he’d agreed to this part of the Accords he really hadn’t given it thought, agreeing just for the sake of agreeing because it meant that the Rogues would be free again. People he once considered family would be free again.   
  
And he hadn’t quite comprehended what it meant until now.   
  
His heart sped up in his chest, images of the way the arc reactor sputtered out in his chest back in Siberia flashing in his mind. Too fast, too fast, too fast, his mind raced, thoughts shooting like fireworks around his brain. He couldn't stop remembering everything he'd been trying so hard to forget.   
  
_ -plus three times the square root of four- _ _   
_   
He remembered the blood in his mouth, spilling down the back of his throat, lips throbbing from where Steve's bruised knuckles had connected.   
  
He remembered that those same porcelain knuckles had once carded through his hair with the utmost gentleness, eyes loving, voice soft as magnolias and tender as dawn.   
  
He remembered the way Steve used to pull him against his chest, pressing his lips against a place in Tony's neck that always made him go weak in the knees.   
  
_ -divided by seven- _ _   
_   
He remembered Steve hovering over him like a reaper with a shield in his hands and a savage look in his eyes that Tony had never quite seen before, his eyes singing a song of death and ruthlessness. It was something feral and untamed, something as controllable as a hurricane and as easy to subdue as a storm. Tony raised his arms up then and he had a choice to make: blast Steve Rogers to hell with the repulsor or let him bring the shield down.   
  
If he fired that blast, if he activated the lasers, if he decided to use his suit for one last fatal blow, he would have been the only one leaving that bunker alive.   
  
_ -plus five- _ _   
_   
He didn't fire the blast.   
  
Steve brought the shield down against his arc reactor instead and in the end, it was Tony that was left behind in the unforgiving bunker, unable to breathe, no way of finding his way back home. Alone and cold again, as usual.   
  
Steve left as if they weren't…   
  
As if what they had wasn't…   
  
_ -times eleven- _ _   
_   
When Tony got back home, he'd found Rhodey waiting with his arms open just like all those years ago back when it was a desert and not an icy terrain. Searing heat and not frigid cold. Afghanistan and not Siberia.   
  
The Ten Rings and not Steve.   
  
The one thing that stayed the same is that no matter how ragged and broken he was, Rhodey was there to pick him back up from the ground in spite of his own paralyzed legs. So Tony got to work, distracting himself, working himself to the ground, trying to perfect the EXTREMIS formula. And when he managed to get it to a stable and more reliable formula, he tried it on himself first and then gave it to Rhodey to make up for the legs he'd gotten hurt because of Tony.   
  
_ -is nine squared - _ _   
_   
"Now you can lose them a thousand times and they'll grow right back," Tony had joked. They were invulnerable, and it reminded Tony so much of a certain super-soldier he had to keep himself from grimacing every time he remembered the man who had laughed with Tony in bed one night and was gone on a search for the past the next. With the strength of the super-soldier serum coursing through his veins, Tony suddenly understood how it felt to not have to cower in front of others. He understood how it might feel to finally have that power and go _ fuck you _ to anyone who wanted to shoulder him around. It was a power and a responsibility he had to learn how to properly harness so he didn't burn from the inside out or burn half the universe away.   
  
_ -and not a bit more. _   
  
"Sir?" Tony heard through the haze in his mind and he blinked, taking in the scene of the hospital room. Belatedly, he realized he was gripping his own thigh and released it, forcing himself to take a few breaths like he'd practiced before. Lucidity came over him like rain against paint, spilling colors and sound back into Tony's brain. The heart monitor beeping, the smell of lemon-scented cleaner, the feeling of the chair under his legs. He was okay. Everything was okay.   
  
Peter was still asleep, but Tony wasn't alone in the room anymore. He met Happy's eyes and stood casually, hands in his pockets.   
  
"Happy, just the man I wanted to see!" he said with a fake cheer in his voice as he walked over to the other man. "How did our team of rogues react to being housed once more in the same building as the horrible bloodsucker Stark?"   
  
Happy rolled his eyes. "They were confused why you weren't there, Rogers debriefed them, and they went on their merry little way. I came here to ask about the kid. And about you."   
  
Tony laughed, pointing a finger at Happy. "You, my friend, care a lot more about him than you let him know. You always act like you'd rather be anywhere but with him but we both know you've got a soft side, Hap. We both know he's grown on you. He does that, the little shit. Can make anyone love him, I swear he is not human, he's some seductive… innocent…. thing."   
  
"Eloquent as always, sir," Happy replied, not responding to his claims and looking at Peter instead. "How long till he wakes up?"   
  
Tony shrugged, taking his own pulse inconspicuously. "No clue. Probably tonight if the universe doesn't completely hate me." Happy walked to the table and made himself some coffee before he took a seat in front of Peter. Tony walked over to the window seat and plopped himself down, taking a sip of the coffee Happy handed him. Neither of them spoke as they sat there, watching Peter and listening to the steady beat of his heart. The hours passed by agonizingly slow, but when Peter finally opened his eyes he almost wept for joy.   
  
"Oh sweet mother Maria, Peter, how do you feel?" he asked, finding himself with an armful of shaking spider boy. He couldn't even resist it- he was too relieved to push the kid away and besides, he just bounced back from his first real near-death experience. "You almost gave me a heart attack, you know that? Fighting on a goddamn plane without telling me  _ again _ \- I swear, I'll never let you out of my sight again after this. You're benched until I'm sure you're smart enough not to go on planes to catch assholes using  _ magic _ which means that  _ they _ could  _ fly _ and  _ you can't _ , got it? You can't just- After Rhodey, I mean, I- For god's sake, Peter, you could have died."   
  
Peter nodded into Tony's neck, holding Tony like he was scared that the older man would leave him if he let go. He still felt like he was falling when he closed his eyes. And the way that the piece of broken metal had landed on him reminded him too much of the fallen building, which already gave him nightmares. "I'll be alright. I'm sorry, sir, I'm so sorry. I didn't- ah, I mean, you know- I didn't think that they would-" and he sighed in frustration when the words wouldn't form quite right, stumbling from his tongue rather than flowing easily like he wanted them to. "I didn't think about the possibility that they'd blow the entire thing up. I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. It won't happen again, I promise. Please don't be angry."   
  
Tony tried to keep up the act of being angry for a total of five seconds before he crumbled under Peter's soft eyes looking into his own with a mixture of repentance, hurt, fear and hope. Honestly, he wasn't even that mad and the relief far outweighed any anger he felt about Peter's stupid stunt. "Alright, I'll assume that the whole this-" Tony gestured to Peter's bandages and tubes, "-is enough to teach you a lesson. But if you do this again, I'm going to be pissed beyond belief."   
  
Peter melted back against the bed and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Stark. You're the best."   
  
"Thanks, I've been told very many times and they're all very right," Tony responded, loving the laugh he got from Peter, loving the way that Peter looked at him as if he was the best thing in the world. Maybe, just maybe, things might be okay. "Oh, and heads up, the Avengers are now… in the building, so try not to faint if you see Captain America in the kitchen at 6 am drinking green tea and whatever garbage healthy stuff he eats."   
  
Peter's eyes didn't widen with excitement like Tony expected though, instead, they averted and Peter nodded solemnly. "Oh. Okay." He didn't meet Tony's eyes for a while but Tony decided not to think of it, pulling out his phone and typing up some updates to Peter's suit that he had in mind so that they would be better prepared to deal with a situation like this in the future. Apparently, one parachute wasn't enough.   
  
He'd have to install more ways to ensure that Peter would survive from falling from an aircraft- which wasn't exactly something they taught in the hefty parenting books Pepper bought him.   
  
-   
  
Tony decided early on that he would not be the one tiptoeing around his own house. Not this time. So he simply continued on with his daily routine and didn't pay much attention to the fact that each of his previous friends- turned enemies- turned technically subordinates were now in the same building as him. For the most part, they seemed to avoid him as well. He'd only seen them in passing and he'd shared a brief nod or conversation with each, almost always small talk, never about anything which could threaten the fragile peace they had. Sam was the one that tried to initially talk to Tony, leaving him a book on self-help and panic attacks that Tony promptly shoved into the deepest corner of his walk-in closet.   
  
Rhodey was the one who Tony spent most of his time with, training with him, bouncing around some ideas, doing whatever they both decided to do. Even if said thing was playing board games or flying around the city and throwing water balloons. It was about being together, not about what they were doing together. Or so Tony said to Rhodey when he would complain about the activity.   
  
Or other times, it was Peter beside Tony, tinkering with him in the lab, sitting beside him for a meal that Tony couldn't say no to if he wanted to set a good example, talking science with him or persuading Tony to help him build Lego sets in spite of Tony's attempts to complain and explain the word "reputation" to him. Peter was a constant source of warmth for Tony, always happy to see him and be with him even if Tony was hardly a pleasant person to be around most of the time.   
  
Still, Tony found himself caring a lot for his "ward" he still didn't really know how he came to have- it was an accidental adoption brought about by circumstance, really. When May had died and left Peter with no other suitable guardian, it was all Tony owed Peter to give him a house and food and a stable source of income. Of course that, somehow, came with nights spent worrying over the little hero and driving lessons that almost gave Tony a heart attack every five seconds and days spent doing nothing but ended up being enjoyable nonetheless even if all they achieved was finally finishing a movie marathon.   
  
And that was enough for Tony. Everything was less important compared to that.   
  
Of course, that was not taking into account the looks he got from the others from time to time. He tried to ignore it, he did, but sometimes they were so transparent that he wanted to turn around and snap. But he didn't snap and he kept a lid on his temper and he made sure not to be affected by the looks of confusion and anger and regret and contempt on their faces.   
  
Steve Rogers was the worst though because Tony knew what his facial expressions meant even if he could only use the tips of his fingers to trace them. Tony saw the wistful look in his eyes, the regret, the shame, the frustration he tried hard to push down. But most painful and disturbing of all, Tony saw the longing in his eyes when he leaned forward- to touch, to reach out- before he stopped himself.   
  
Steve Rogers was a bruise and he made Tony ache just looking at him.   
  
There were too many things to be said between them, too many words that had built up and turned sour on Tony's tongue because he'd bitten them down too long. There was a conversation to be had about trust and secrets and betrayal.   
  
About putting your hands on your lover and leaving them to die for someone else without so much as a goodbye and not turning back even when they called your name- as a plea or a curse didn't matter, if they whispered it or snarled it was irrelevant. If you loved that person you should at least have the decency to spare them a parting glance before you closed the door behind you.   
  
But when Tony looked into Steve's mournful eyes, all the words clattered against each other until all remained was a jumble of letters and vowels and white noise in Tony's brain. So he said nothing except "good morning" and "good evening" and " bless you" and "excuse me" and "goodbye". He said nothing about arc reactors flickering out in his chest or about videos watched in Siberian HYDRA bases that showed a murder that had been kept secret from him or about the long shadow that Bucky Barnes cast. Steve didn't try to talk to him either. It was always "morning, Tony" and "hey, Tony" and "bye, Tony" and "night, Tony".   
  
So Tony focused on making sure Peter was capable of keeping himself alive when Tony was gone for longer than 5 minutes and that his inventions were used for good things like giving the sick and dying a second chance at living a normal life and giving the incapable the means to even out the playing field.   
  
"Tones," Rhodey called and he looked up from his phone to look at him. And then beside him, where two people stood with ridiculously bright smiles that felt a bit out of place for 6 in the morning. "You got a few visitors looking to book a room." Bruce and Thor stood there, looking like friends that just got home. It struck Tony how they were both actually happy to be there, with their smiles and gentle eyes.   
  
Tony didn't hesitate before he got up and walked over, placing a hand on Bruce's shoulders. "Bruce, are you okay? How have you been?" he asked, opening his arms up when Bruce moved to embrace him without missing a beat. "God, I missed you. Where have you been, man?"   
  
"I was on this planet called Sakaar for a few years as the Hulk and then Thor showed up there so I guess he sorta woke me up? And then we went back to Asgard to fight his sister who was trying to kill everyone and he lost an eye and the entire planet burned so we're here now with a lot of Asgardians," Bruce explained and Tony struggled to take in everything he was rambling about. Was Bruce high? What the actual hell were they talking about?   
  
Thor nodded, agreeing with everything Bruce said as if he'd just said something perfectly sensible. "Yes, and my father died as well and my sister Hela broke my most cherished hammer. And a crazy old man cut my hair off. Ah! And my brother Loki is here with us and also needs a place to stay for the next few days until he finds somewhere more suitable and acceptable. He has proven his goodness, Man of Iron, and I assure you he is no enemy. His hand was forced when he attacked Midgard, verified by our trusted Heimdall, who sees all and knows all the events that go on within the universe. He has been freed from his spell though, so I can assure you he will not be a threat any longer."   
  
Tony watched as Loki stepped from the shadows, hands clasped behind his back, looking far less evil and perhaps a bit more charming now that he was wearing a warm blue outfit and a smile that reached his eyes rather than bearing a sneer and a murder stick. "Hello, Anthony."   
  
"Tony's fine," he responded with a small smile. And that was that. "Everyone else calls me that, so… I don't know, welcome aboard, I guess? You know most of the old Avengers here, I'll assume, because we were all trying to take you down: Cap, me, Natasha, and Clint. The new ones are Vision, Rhodey, Spider-boy aka Peter Parker who's in his room, um… Bucky isn't here right now, there's Wanda, and… Wilson." Tony finished pointing at each of the ones he mentioned before he looked at Loki, who was giving him a puzzled smile. "I could give you either the seventh or eleventh floor, up to you. Which do you prefer?"   
  
Loki frowned, crossing his arms in front of him. "You are offering me shelter?"   
  
"You said you needed a place to stay, Loreal, so tell me which you'd prefer so I could have it set up by dinner."   
  
Loki blinked at him, baffled by the welcome he'd received without Tony missing a beat. He'd expected that he'd need to beg and barter to receive shelter from a man he threw from a building, but instead he was greeted with a "Tony's fine" and told to pick which floor he'd prefer, not questioned about who controlled him, how, or asked questions to verify the credibility of his story. It was quite odd, but with a gentle prod of mind magic, Loki figured out the answer lay in the strained relationship between Tony and the rest of the previous Avengers who now stood there with either confused, curious or distrustful looks on their faces even if none of them spoke up about Loki's stay. How curious. "I would prefer 11th if the choice is actually a choice."   
  
"Of course the choice is a choice, I'm not here to dangle options just to pull them away last minute for shits and giggles," Tony said, before raising his hand. "Fri, you heard? 11th floor, personalized furniture, whatnot. Give him the Thor or Bucky deal but make it match the files I have on hand for him to be better suited for him. Leave a magazine for him to be able to customize it."   
  
"I'm on it, Boss," Friday responded.   
  
"Alright, so… Thor, you're the top floor and Bruce you're the first basement level. Is this still okay with the two of you?" At their nods, he flashed them a thumbs up. "Nice to have the two of you back, I'll have some more things ordered for you. Friday is my new AI, so you can ask her for anything you might need or if you need to contact me."   
  
"Mr. Stark can I go to the museu-" Peter walked in and froze, eyes widening when he saw the two men he hadn't met before. "Mr. Stark is that-"   
  
"Thor and Bruce Banner and Loki, yes it is, kid, go nuts," Tony said, clapping him on the back and pushing him towards the three. Peter stared at them all in awe, eyes wide with wonder as he approached them. Tony thought he looked like a kid that just went to a candy store for the first time, smiling as Peter fawned over all of them, excitedly rambling.   
  
"Hi! I'm Peter, or uh, Spider-man. It's nice to meet you, sir," Peter gushed to Thor, looking at him. "Say, your hair is a lot shorter than the news says it is. Did you cut it? I like it better like this, with a little lightning thing on the side. Do you still have your magic hammer?"   
  
"I'm afraid I do not, for it was destroyed in a death-match with my eldest sibling, Hela who was bent upon destroying our planet."   
  
"Oh, okay. Mr-Dr Banner! Hi, I'm Peter. I read all of your works and journals and I loved all of them, especially your articles on biochemistry! I'm a huge fan, my school holds an honor day for you, Mr. Banner, sir," Peter said as he shook Bruce's hand, who stood there blushing, visibly flustered as Tony flashed him a smile. "You're a hero amongst scholars and- and an Avenger too, which is so awesome when you think about it. The Hulk is the coolest thing ever! It's an honor to finally meet someone who helped revolutionized modern science."   
  
" __ Finally meet someone who revolutionized modern science?" Tony muttered, crossing his arms. "Wow, way to go for the pride, kid. Right in the arc reactor."   
  
"Uh, thank you very much, that's very kind of you, Pete- Peter. You've read all of my works?"   
  
Tony nodded. "Yep, he read yours and wouldn't shut up about all your theories and discoveries for weeks. He's a huge science nut and did the same thing for my journals and all that jazz though so I wouldn't let it go to your head, Brucie."   
  
"Wait- is this, I'm sorry, I have to ask because this is all pretty... confusing. Is he your son? How old is he? 12? How long were we gone?" Bruce finally asked the question that had been bubbling in his mind from the moment he saw Peter walk in and Tony flashed him a smile that Bruce knew to be rare and had to be earned. It was genuine and unfiltered, which begged the question of who this kid was and how he'd managed to earn Tony's affection. There was a murmur of agreement among the others in the room, and Tony looked at them to see they were all waiting for an answer. Seemed most of them wondered but none had dared to ask.   
  
He shrugged. "It's a long story. Son? Technically, yes, because his last legal guardian died and that left me to take him in. You were gone a few years, which is good because a shitstorm is what you missed if we're going to be brutally honest. Avengers broke up, then they were legally mandated to come back here under my ever-so-watchful eye so they came back here a week ago. There's really no need to recap all that, you could google it if you want to see us acting like street punks at 7/11 fist-fighting to claim their turf. Press called it the 'Civil War' if you're interested."   
  
"Broke up? What, like the Beatles?" Bruce asked, looking around to meet Clint's eye, who nodded jerkily before turning back to his oatmeal. "You guys broke up?"   
  
"I'm 15, not 12," Peter replied with a frown, walking over to Loki and giving him a smile. "Hi, Mr. Loki, I'm Peter. I heard a lot about you."   
  
Loki internally winced. The only thing this small child could have heard was how Loki went into a rage and tried to destroy Midgard with his army of chitauri and got beaten into the ground, defeated. Or perhaps how he was Thor's less important and less powerful brother, a simple god of mischief, adopted Jotunn son of two Asgardian gods. "Did you?"   
  
"Yeah! Can you explain how your- uh, it's called cider, right?- works? Is it something you inherit from your parents? Can I learn it? Do you think you can show me how the cider works?"   
  
The silence around the room was almost hilarious because nobody, not even Stark, could have expected that those were the words that Peter was going to say. There was something beautiful about a kid's charm and innocence and naivete, and though Tony would have scolded him any other time for asking a murderous magic man to teach him magic, he couldn't bring himself to do so when he saw the brightness in Loki's eyes that looked ridiculously close to watering. Thor was giving his brother a soft smile, unseen by either Peter or Loki, and the rest of the Avengers couldn't even bring themselves to look away from the scene playing out.   
  
"It is called seidr. I could explain it further if you… wish," Loki responded, visibly caught out of his depth by the curiosity and genuine interest in the boy's eyes. Tony returned Peter's beaming grin, happy that his geeky son would get to do whatever geeky stuff he wanted. The kid loved fantasy and sci-fi after all, so learning magic from an actual god must be a dream come true for him.   
  
From the shadows, Tony saw Cap with a small, sad smile on his face before he turned around and left the kitchen. Tony knew he'd be going to the gym by the tense set of his shoulders and the way he walked like his fists were itching for something- anything- to make contact with until his mind stopped its course of destruction. Tony watched him until he turned a corner and disappeared.


	2. We're Far From Together Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You and me, we're bumper cars  
> The more I try to get to you  
> The more we crash apart, no  
> Round and round we chase the sparks  
> But all that seems to lead to  
> Is a pile of broken parts"
> 
> -Alex and Sierra, Bumper Cars
> 
> Secrets are unveiled, Rhodey is protective, and the team takes a step forward in the right direction.

Peter tapped his pen against the table, lost in thought. Rhodey looked up from his paperwork and gave him a look. "What's up, kid? You bored? We could head out for some ice cream or something if you want. This paperwork can wait. My brain is about to bleed if I sit here for another minute looking this stuff over."   
  
"I'm not bored, Mr. Rhodey," Peter answered, restlessly tapping his pen against the table in the same pattern. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap. "It's Mr. Stark. I'm worried about him." Even after being adopted by Tony, he still hadn't stopped calling him Mr. Stark, finding the name more comfortable and familiar than Tony. It was a hardwired rule to him that all adults should be given the same amount of respect, so calling him by the first name was almost blasphemy.   
  
Rhodey frowned, "is there something wrong? Did something happen? What did he do now? If I have to fill out more paperwork because of him-"   
  
Peter put the pen down, feeling listless and uneasy. "It's not that. It's just… the Avengers are here. And Mr. Thor is good to him and so is Dr. Banner, but the others… the ones that we fought in the airport… They don't really like him and it's obvious that he's uncomfortable around them. He's been sorta jumpy again when they're in the same room and they don't even hide how they don't really want him around all that much."   
  
Rhodey sighed. He'd know this conversation was coming. He'd seen the way that Peter looked at the Avengers, and even though the awe and respect was still present in the brown orbs, there was an undertone of distrust and fear there too, not to mention the way he looked crestfallen at seeing how far the Avengers had fallen. Rhodey couldn't blame him; the kid was raised on stories about the Avengers after all, had watched TV for any news about his heroes and had dreamed about one day meeting them. Millions of kids shared that dream.   
  
And so many of them were disappointed by what had taken place, but Peter most of all because he was there to watch it all burning slowly and painfully, had heard the deafening snap of the final strings that held the team together.   
  
Peter, the bubbly and spritely kid, stared at all of them with wariness and nervousness. It was a slap in the face that Steve hadn't expected from the boy and Rhodey saw the way he flinched when Peter positioned himself between Tony and him on instinct. Tony hadn't seen it happen yet, too busy talking to Dr. Banner or clicking away on his phone, but Rhodey'd seen Steve's approach and his sudden stop when Peter gave him the same look that kids gave their alcoholic dads who often went off the rails.   
  
Fearful but not willing to stand aside because they knew their mom would get hurt. Rhodey'd seen that before. It was weird to think of Tony as a mom though, he wouldn't deny that.   
  
Peter watched the Avengers whenever Tony turned his back as if he was scared that his mentor- his dad- would be stabbed in the back again. His starstruck but protective eyes didn't leave Steve's shield (that Tony himself made, but he changed the design, made it better) the entire time that they stood together.   
  
"What are you thinking?" Rhodey asked, knowing that there wasn't a lot he could do without injuring Tony's fragile pride. After he'd come home from Siberia it was like having to piece him back all over again. The PTSD came back full force, with nightmares, panic attacks and overwhelming guilt present once again. Rhodey had been there. Peter had been there for the less gritty parts. Peter had been there when Tony came home cloaked in his own blood. Rhodey had been the one to calm the distraught teenager down while they waited outside for the doctors to finish patching him up.   
  
Peter had been Tony's lifesaver as much as he was Peter's. Peter had been a wreck after the whole debacle with May, but Tony was there as Peter's rock, his anchor, a steady wall for him to lean on any time that Peter needed him. Tony was able to focus his racing thoughts into a purpose, able to direct his energy on protecting Peter Parker. Peter's undying faith in him helped Tony realize his own worth when he saw the adoration in the boy's star-like eyes. In a way, Rhodey knew that Peter saved Tony's life.   
  
Peter was a big part of Tony's recovery from his trauma from what happened, and Tony was a big factor that helped Peter deal with his grief over May's death. When Peter stumbled into Tony's arms after the funeral, clinging to him and sobbing like a lost child, Tony swore that he'd never felt more like iron.   
  
He held Peter fast, firm, steadfast even when Peter's knees gave and Tony had to gently lower him onto a chair, telling him to breathe past his tears, telling him that it would be alright, that he would be alright. "I've got you, Pete, just breathe for me, okay? Everything's going to be alright. It always turns out alright, I promise. You're alright. I've got you."   
  
_ Stark men are made of iron. You're a Stark now, Peter. Breathe. _ _   
_   
["I can't- I can't believe," Peter had rambled, hands shaking as he sat there. "I can't believe that they'd- that he'd- I mean, weren't they- weren't him and Mr. Rogers… Didn't they date?"   
  
Rhodey could only nod. "Yeah. They're dating."   
  
Peter's head snapped over to him. "Present tense?"   
  
"Yeah. Present tense," he answered, deflating as he realized how depressing everything actually was when put in that way.   
  
"Oh my god. Holy shit that's messed up." And Rhodey couldn't put it any better.]   
  
Peter sighed. "I don't know. I just… don't want them to hurt him again."   
  
An idea began forming in Rhodey's head, becoming clearer as he thought more about it. "Neither do I, kid." Perhaps he could do something about that. He just needed to wait for the right time.   
  
Which came two days after he and Peter had their little talk.   
  
"Alright here's the deal," Rhodey said when he knew that Tony wouldn't be back for the next day. He had all of the Avengers in front of him after calling for a team meeting, still dressed in their gear because they thought there would be a mission. Even Thor and Loki were there, but Rhodey made sure that Peter wasn't anywhere near the tower. The kid didn't need to be here for this. "If any of you put your hands anywhere near Tony again, I will not be held responsible for my actions. Do you understand?"   
  
They would not be taking away the one person that he had left.   
  
Clint shifted, crossing his arms. "He was the one that-"   
  
"I'm going to stop you there, Barton. He tried to compromise. He asked all of you to sign the Accords for show and the documents would be amended later. He tried to make sure none of you actually went to prison in spite of the stunt you all pulled. He learned that Barnes  _ was _ innocent and went to back Rogers and Barnes up in Siberia."   
  
Thor looked between the others curiously, obviously kept out of the loop about everything that happened. He met Loki's eyes and they seemed to share a silent conversation with one another before they both turned to watch the scene playing out in front of them.   
  
"He went back on his word to go as a friend," Sam spoke up next, looking at Rhodey. Rhodey turned to look at Steve, who kept staring at the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, and the pieces clicked into place. None of the rogues even knew what really went on in that bunker.   
  
"Friday pull up footage from the bunker in Siberia," Rhodey said, not breaking eye contact with Sam. "Maybe this'll help you all understand things a tad bit better."   
  
The recording began, grainy at first before it cleared. Clint kept his eyes on the screen, but Steve was busy staring at the gray paint of the wall that only reminded him of the concrete walls of the Siberian bunker. He remembered the events of that day all too well, already feeling sick to his stomach with just the mention of it. That day had haunted Steve's dreams since it happened and there was no escape from them. He knew it so well he could recite everything that happened word for word.   
  
Tony walked into the bunker, his faceplate revealing his bruised face, walking forward, indifferent to Bucky aiming a gun at him and Steve holding his shield ready for a fight. "You seem a little defensive," he remarked casually, still walking forward. He raised a hand to Bucky, who didn't remove his intense stare or the gun aimed at him. "At ease, soldier, I'm not currently after you."   
  
"It's been a long day," Steve's voice filtered through the recording. "Why are you here?"   
  
"Maybe your story's not so crazy. Maybe-" Tony paused, eyes searching Steve's before he looked away and leaned against the wall. He didn't continue the sentence. "Ross has no idea I'm here, I'd like to keep it that way. Otherwise, I have to arrest myself."   
  
Steve smiled, "sounds like a lot of paperwork." Tony had smiled back briefly too, before it fell away and all that was left was wistfulness and despondency as he stared at the person who he used to share his bed with. Who he used to share his heart with. Steve lowered his shield, adopting a more friendly stance, but Bucky didn't move a muscle. "It's good to see you, Tony."   
  
"You too, Cap." Tony looked up to see Bucky's gun and rolled his eyes. "Oh come on! You're killing me. There's a truce here, you can drop the-" And with Steve's gesture, Bucky finally lowered the gun.   
  
Clint frowned, worrying his lip. "What happened? They look like they've finally sorted shit out- what happened?"   
  
"Keep watching. It gets worse," Rhodey said, having watched this footage already while Tony was under the scalpel to have Extremis put into his body. He'd watched it over and over and wished with every fiber of his being that he was there to have his best friend's back. Legs or no legs, he would have fired that laser from the moment the screen turned off and dragged Tony's sorry ass out before he could have that shield slammed against his chest.   
  
The trio kept walking deeper into the bunker until they finally found Zemo. The conversation between Zemo and Steve that followed made Steve nauseous. He saw the way that Natasha kept glancing over at him, trying to understand. He had no explanation though. There were no excuses he could give for what happened in Siberia. For how he'd treated Tony.   
  
"You lost someone?" Steve had asked Zemo.   
  
"I lost everyone," Zemo responded, looking deep into Steve's eyes with the gaze of a man with nothing more to lose. "And so will you. An empire which topples from its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That's dead. Forever." He looked between Tony and Steve almost smugly, and Steve wanted to put his fist through the TV screen, finding it harder to breathe when he saw the almost predatory look in Zemo's eyes towards Tony. He'd planned everything. From the way that Steve would act down to the way he would keep secrets that weren't his to keep.   
  
Steve was the one that Zemo was after. Tony and Bucky were collateral damage. He only realized that now. Zemo had given them the necessary blades but it was Steve who put his through Tony's heart.   
  
The computer screen flashed to life.   
  
Natasha felt Clint stiffening beside her, looking at Cap with confusion in his eyes at not being told more than "Tony showed up, we fought, I left". She didn't understand it either. Why didn't he tell them that Tony had yielded, hadn't attacked, had actually gone there as an ally? What was Steve hiding from them?   
  
Tony came closer to the computer screen, "I know that road." 16th of December 1991, the tape said. He obviously recognized the date, growing uneasy as the clips began rolling. "What is this?" he called but received no reply but an empty stare from Zemo. A car slammed against the lamp post, a motorcycle skidding to a stop beside. Sergeant Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier.   
  
"Stop," Steve called from the corner, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes haunted. "Turn it off."   
  
The recording paused. "Sir?" Friday asked, hesitation in her voice.   
  
Rhodey gave Steve a hard look. "Keep it playin'."   
  
The recording started again and Rhodey found it satisfying to see the horror sweep through the faces of the so-called Avengers as the screen split into Tony's reaction and the video he was watching. Clint swore loudly, clenching his teeth when he saw the way that Tony's eyes filled with tears as he watched the video, shifting from foot to foot just to be able to make it through the entire video.   
  
"By Odin," Thor whispered, eyes sympathetic as he watched. He knew the pain of losing his parents, knew the pain of being deceived and knew how rage could stain one's soul. His heart sank. He was meant to be the protector of Midgard, but he couldn't even protect his own team from tearing itself apart from the inside out. If it were Thor in Tony's position, he would have made sure that it was only he who left that place alive and he would never lose a night's sleep over it.   
  
Loki's eyes flicked away, a pensive look on his face.   
  
Tony's first instinct was to dive for the Winter Soldier standing only a few feet away, but Steve hastily pulled him back with an arm to his chest. "Tony, Tony!" he yelled, keeping Tony from attacking Bucky.   
  
Tony stopped, confusion flashing in his eyes, the gears in his genius mind turning, and he turned to face Rogers with distress written clear across his bruised face. He didn't speak immediately, having to work up to it as the broken pieces seemed to finally click together in his mind and it painted a picture that only dug the knife in a little deeper. "Did you know?" he whispered, splinters in his voice, eyes still cloudy with tears.   
  
"I didn't know it was him," Steve said at the same time as the recording, voice monotone. Clint shook his head in bitter disappointment at the screen and Natasha squeezed his hand to calm him down before he did something they'd all regret.   
  
"Don't bullshit me, Rogers-" Tony spat, the vengeful rage coming back as the hurt was replaced by lividity. "Did you know?"   
  
"Yes," Steve echoed the recording.   
  
Sam huffed, looking at Steve with confusion and betrayal. The gods really did have clay feet. The man he'd grown up worshipping… "You messed up, man. You messed up big-time."   
  
They'd all seen Tony and Steve interact before any of this happened. Hell, the whole goddamn world saw them before this mess. They'd watched them slow-dance and kiss under the mistletoe and feed each other ice cream when the days were sunny and bright. They'd held hands at fancy events that Tony insisted on bringing Steve to, they'd laid under the stars when neither of them could sleep, they'd lean into each other when they walked as if they were both afraid of the other disappearing suddenly. To see those two same people fall apart this way was painful to watch.   
  
"Do you even remember them?" Tony had asked- whispered again, in that godforsaken tone of his- Bucky, pinning him to his chest.   
  
"I remember all of it," was the response he got. Bucky didn't drop his gaze from the screen, forcing himself to keep watching.  _ Detach _ , he told himself.  _ Detach _ .   
  
Loki kept his gaze pinned on Steve, who wouldn't watch the video, his shoulders tense and his hands trembling underneath the table where he thought nobody could see. How interesting, the way these mortals worked. How utterly broken and ruined and damaged they all were.   
  
"This isn't going to change what happened."   
  
Bruce shifted, his eyes tinged with green. "You- You… I can't believe this, Steve, I really can't. How could you hide something like this from him? I just can't fucking believe you. He's your partner, for god's sake!" In the recording, Steve stood in front of Tony, back to Bucky. It was obvious where he stood and it wasn't with Tony.   
  
"I can't believe it either," Steve told Bruce, fingers tracing over the hem of his shirt, unable to meet Bruce's dismayed eyes, unable to try to gather the blows his pride was receiving and fan it to a flame so he could snap back, come up with a retort to defend his actions. Bruce stormed out of the room, needing to cool off after everything he'd seen. The sound of the door slamming was deafening against the deathly silence of the people within the room.   
  
Tony shook his head. "I don't care. He killed my mom." He charged and they fought, fists against flesh, feet against metal, two against one. It was a mess of limbs and blows and chaos. Hollow eyes and tangled lies and bleeding hearts.   
  
"This is distressing," Thor said. "How could you let your differences get in the way of your love for one another? Were you and he not sweethearts? Were you and he not teammates? How petty you Midgardians are to let such small things escalate into something so devastating and harmful."   
  
"He's my friend," Steve told Tony, tired, on his knees, still covering Bucky who was on the ground behind him.  _ End of the line. _ _   
_   
Tony's fists were clenched. "So was I." Except he was  _ more _ . He was  _ supposed _ to be more. He  _ thought _ he was more than a  _ 'friend' _ . He struck again, picking Steve up and throwing him to the side so he could get to Bucky. "Stay down," Tony said, hand raised towards Steve. "Final warning." Steve knew this was another compromise, another one of Tony's chances, another opportunity for him to fuck up.   
  
Steve shook his head, getting back to his feet shakily. "I could do this all day."   
  
"Steve?" Clint said, still looking at the screen. When Steve looked at him, Clint met his eyes with the heat of heaven's wrath burning in them. "If this entire trainwreck of a mess happens again, I'm siding with him next time."   
  
The shield slammed against Tony's reactor, blue light fading to black. Tony's looked down at the remains of his reactor, his face painted with his own blood, drawn by Steve's fists and Bucky's feet.   
  
"You left him there? Tell me you didn't, Steve. Tell me that-" Sam begged, still looking at the screen.   
  
Tony's hands were covering the shattered remains of his reactor. "Forever my ass," he murmured, spitting the blood from his mouth, panting as the first traces of anxiety set in. "That shield doesn't belong to you. You don't deserve it. My father made that shield!" There was a beat of silence as Steve tried to decide what to do.   
  
He decided on dropping it, leaving it there with the person who'd had his heart broken by it. It was the last connection Tony had to his father. And the last one he had to Steve.   
  
"I did," Steve answered Sam.   
  
Eidetic memory. Steve still remembered what it felt like to slam his fist against Tony's face. He still remembered what it felt like to slam a shield down against his lover's heart and could still remember the way that Tony's voice sounded when he called out to Steve one last time.   
  
"Steve," Tony softly said, voice raw and low and still filled with heartache. Steve didn't turn to face him, couldn't face what he'd done. He left, footsteps echoing as he helped Bucky out of the room, leaving Tony behind. The recording ended there, with Tony struggling to get to all fours, staring at the door as it closed, chest rising and falling unsteadily.   
  
The lights clicked back on and the Avengers shared looks with one another, a mixture of horror and anger and sadness. Rhodey looked at each of them, figuring out where each of them stood on the matter. Bruce entered the room again, calmer but still agitated, hair a mess of curls that belied how he'd been running his fingers through it to self-soothe.   
  
"So, I hope this cleared some things up about what happened," Rhodey said calmly, looking at Clint and Sam, then at Natasha. "And this might justify the reason that I'm telling all of you that if you try to put a finger on him again I will personally rip you apart."   
  
Bruce raised his hand. "So will I," he said. "The big guy is screaming inside me right now. If someone hurts him again, I can't guarantee they'll live."   
  
Bucky looked up, so silent he was practically invisible until now, and nodded once. "Good. They shouldn't be allowed to." Loki gave him a sidelong glance and surmised that he didn't agree with everything that happened either, sensing some undergoing tension between Barnes and Rogers.   
  
"We've been here for a week and you didn't tell us? 7 months, Rogers, and you didn't fucking  _ tell _ us what you did," Clint growled, pinning Steve with a look that was downright ferocious. "You fucking lied to us, led us to believe  _ he _ was in the wrong, and you didn't tell us a goddamn thing about this? About the compromises he offered? About leaving him to die in Siberia? He's your- I mean, come on, man, he's your- You two were…"   
  
Steve's gaze moved to his hands. "I know," he said, voice hardly more than a whisper, the tears beginning to sting his eyes. "I don't know how to make it up to him."   
  
Bucky pulled the knife from his thigh holster, placing it on the table they were all seated around. It was the last one he had from his days as the Soldier, made almost personal by his name carved onto the handle. It was all he had that was  __ his , all he had to offer. Natasha raised an eyebrow before her expression cleared at the determination in his eyes, understanding. She pulled the small gun from her boot, placing it on the table. It was something that was hers, not made by Tony and not put into her hands by the Red Room.   
  
"What are you doing?" Rhodey asked, looking at the two.   
  
Clint pulled his bow from his back and placed it on the table as well. "Giving our allegiance to Tony Stark. It's a promise and an apology."   
  
One by one, they all placed things personal to them, things they wanted to give Tony to show their allegiance. Steve put down his dog tags from his days in the army, knowing how much Tony loved to see Steve wearing them. Bruce put down his mother's engagement ring that she'd given to him before his father killed her, when they were still something close to a happy family. Maybe one day, when time healed the wounds that were now still gaping, the team could have something like that. Maybe they could become a family again just like before.   
  
Thor placed a piece of gold on the table. "The material Asgard was built from," he said, which surprised very few.   
  
What surprised most of them was when a knife manifested in Loki's hands and he cut a strand of his hair, placing it on the table. Thor looked at him with wide eyes, mouth open. "Brother, you know the power you put in their hands?" Thor asked, "I may not be a sorcerer but it is no secret how significant hair and blood are to those who are magical in nature. To give them your hair would be like giving them the power they need against you- this is invaluable. Are you certain?"   
  
Loki met his eyes then, intense. "I am sure."


	3. The Light at the Tunnel is a Runaway Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you lonely? Do you miss me anymore?  
> Is your heart as empty as these arms that used to hold you?  
> Are you tired? Are you weaker than before?  
> Are you sinking? Cause I've been thinking that there's something missing  
> Oh, it's you"  
> -Back to You, Alex and Sierra
> 
> Bruce and Tony talk before Tony goes for a swim.

The weeks passed, and nobody could deny how the peace grew precarious with each passing day because of how Tony and Steve both seemed intent on spending their time in opposite sides of the compound at all times. Whenever one of them was in one room, the other was bound to be somewhere far, far away.

The rift this created began to cause a strain on the other Avengers who really just wanted to have a functioning team again. But they couldn't have that yet because the two lovesick morons were both in need of some "gentle persuasion" so they could decide what they wanted to do. 

Because with Tony and Steve on opposite sides, it was sorta hard not to fall back into the urge to pick a side.

"Have you noticed Tony? He's being really quiet and elusive lately. I don't think he leaves his lab all that much again," Clint commented, sitting on the fridge with a jar of jam and a spoon. Natasha gave him a repulsed look for a second, before she shook her head.

"I haven't really had the time to talk to Tony this past week," she responded. "I've been with the fossil for the most part."

Clint hummed. "How is he?"

"A mess, as you can expect." Natasha grabbed an apple from the counter and bit into it, sitting down on the stool beside Bruce. "How's Tony, Bruce?"

Bruce tore his eyes away from his book, looking at Clint then at her. "He's been... fine. He's currently working on a communication device that has an IP70 classification and borrows elements from the picture exchange communication system. He's a bit depressed, never talks about Steve or the fight, seems a bit more on edge than usual."

Clint shoveled another spoonful of jam into his mouth. "You should talk to him."

"Me?" Bruce asked, frowning. "Why me? Isn't Rhodey his best friend?"

"He's on a mission, won't be back for another few weeks."

"Sam's a counselor for trauma survivors."

Natasha shook her head, swallowing before she spoke unlike the uncultured swine that was Clint Barton. "He's out with Bucky."

Bruce ran his fingers through his hair. If anyone asked him _"hey do you want to give therapy to someone in spite of not being licensed or qualified to do it?"_ the answer would automatically be _"of fucking course not"._ But he couldn't deny that he saw how Tony's anxiety was spiking again because of his avoidance of Steve and he'd started to go back to his old habits of working himself to the bone to keep himself from thinking about the actual problem. He seemed to be in a rut and didn't know how to get himself out.

"I might mess this up," Bruce responded. "And all the big guy wants is for me to make this better but I don't know how. I want to protect him but right now..."

"The only threat to him right now is himself," Natasha continued for Bruce, knowing without needing to be told that Tony was likely in an internal war with himself. _Tony Stark: Not Recommended._ She'd made a mistake. She didn't see through his masks at the time, didn't see the man thrashing underneath the surface for light and air, didn't see the quiet desperation behind his laughter. Tony had a heartbreaking way of crying with his smiles and nobody realized it soon enough.

Maybe if they had, they would have saved themselves a lot of pain.

But nobody noticed it before they were all being  _forced_ to see what they'd done to him. And by then it was too late.

"I want to help him," Bruce responded again, "but is talking to Steve really the thing he needs right now? What if he needs time?"

Clint wiped his mouth with his sleeve and jumped from the top of the fridge. Natasha made way for him as he made his way to the sink. "He needs resolution and to talk his issues out with Steve instead of avoiding him- and avoiding everything that has to do with him. Tony's one catastrophe away from shattering and if we can get him to deal with his anxiety and problems with trust and trauma, we might be able to help him get through it better. Right now, he's lugging all that around and it's going to bubble up until he explodes. We can't have that. Not after last time."

She never talked about what happened last time. Nobody knew about what happened  _last time_ when Tony'd snapped. She carried that memory with her like a stain on her skin, something she only remembered when the nights were cold and all she could think about was Tony's broken whisper of _"let me go"._

"Just talk to him. Tell him that he should talk to Steve so they could come across an understanding, decide what they wanna do about their relationship, and that whatever happens, we'll be here for him. If he chooses to end things, we're here. If he wants more time, that's fine. If he wants to get back with the walking flag, we'll still be here. Just let him know he's not alone, eh?" Clint said. "Let him know we just want to help him be his normal flamboyant self again and that he should tackle Steve- I mean, the problem- head on."

Bruce sighed. "Alright. I'll try to talk to him."

\--

"You know you'll have to talk to him at some point, Tony," Bruce said and Tony looked up from his equations to look over at him, but Bruce was still so focused on his own work that Tony wondered if he'd imagined hearing his voice. Was he that sleep-deprived? "We both know that you can't avoid Steve forever. You two dance around each other like world's most depressing ballerinas. Why not just sit down and talk with him and hope for the best?" Bruce internally cringed, hating how the words sounded from his lips.

God, he was never going to get a degree in psychology. He. was. an. idiot.  
  
Tony scoffed, putting down his pen and pushing his chair to roll over to the other table. "Should I answer that chronologically or alphabetically?"  
  
"What's the worst that could happen?"  
  
"Um, one, we all break up again and they're captured for real this time and they go to jail for violating the regulations put in place by the Accords. Two, Steve and I have another round of a no-holds-barred deathmatch, except this time I have EXTREMIS in my blood so I could burn his beautiful face off with a touch or his upgraded shield actually kills me this time. Three, we shatter what little semblance of peace we have. Four- do I have to go on? I could go on. Tell me if I have to go on."  
  
Bruce looked at Tony knowingly, a sadness deep in his eyes. He knew what the rambling words meant, what the deflection meant. "You're scared, is what you're saying," was the simple reply Tony got back.  
  
He opened his mouth to argue because _no_ , he was _not_ afraid goddammit, but the words weren't there to back him up. Because he was, if he dared to admit it to himself, he was scared because Steve was here and Tony didn't know what that meant. For him, for them, for what they used to be.  
  
He was afraid because Steve's hands knew every part of his body intimately better than anybody else did and those same hands left wounds on him that were papercut sharp. And even though that was the case, Tony still yearned for the way Steve's body curled up against him on the good nights and left marks with his lips on the inside of Tony's hip on the better nights. Tony still missed the warmth and softness that Steve once touched him with, craved the way his eyes would soften towards Tony and Tony alone, longed for what they used to be before they were a mess of trembling limbs and bleeding souls.  
  
And that scared him because he knew he shouldn't even be close to missing Steve after what happened. He should have been over him the moment Steve's fist met his jaw. He should have been over him ever since Steve went to look for Bucky and left him for weeks at a time. He should have been over him the first time he told Steve he loved him and Steve didn't reply.  
  
"I hate you, is what I'm saying," Tony replied instead, tapping his pen against the table. He could tell that the calculations were off somehow but his mind wouldn't let him pick out the mistake. Damn. "Why are you suddenly interested in my love life or lack thereof anyway?"  
  
Bruce hesitated, "Rhodey showed us the tapes from the bunker and I spent some time on Google. I saw what… happened. The footage from the airport, all the news stories about what was going on… Tony, I'm so sorry I wasn't there when it was all going down."  
  
Tony brushed the words aside. "Yeah? I guess that's a good a reason as any to try and meddle." He tapped the pen against his head. "And also, you can have the ring back. Is that your mom's?" He didn't wait for Bruce to answer, shaking his head. "Of course it's your mom's. Who else could it belong to? That ring size and intricate design and your own lack of romantic affiliations would only lead to one answer. I mean, it's nice, I get the gesture, swearing fealty and devotion, you have my back, blah blah blah. But Jesus Christ I don't want your mom's ring or Bucky's knife! And without his bow, Hawk-ass is close to fucking useless, no offense to him. He can't exactly turn into a hawk at will or anything, that bow is _his thing_ . Tell him I made him a better version of his bow so he could come get it whenever he wants."  
  
"That… defeats the purpose of giving you his bow entirely, but sure, why not?" Bruce responded with a roll of his eyes. "We mean it, Tony. We're here for you. We're science bros, right? I'm here when you need me. The Hulk will protect you with his life and destroy any threat to your well-being."  
  
Tony looked up, surprised, but he nodded anyway. "Of course. Science Bros. I've got your back too, big guy. Always."  
  
_You shouldn't have to have my back_ , Bruce wanted to say but refrained. He knew how well _that_ would be interpreted.  
  
After Rhodey sat them down and gave them the Talk about protecting Tony, Bruce had done his best to learn about what exactly had happened. He'd scoured the interwebs to figure it out. He'd asked around more than he would have been comfortable with if the big guy didn't keep bothering him about protecting "Tin Man".  
  
Bruce had seen the reports, read the original Accords that Steve refused to sign, listened to the interviews and searched through the social media to figure out what everyone thought about it. It was all over the news, all over the internet, and Bruce realized that Tony was adored by people with and without the suit, and even without him needing to speak about the fight over the Accords that the shark-like press had called the 'Civil War', he had a following that spoke for him. Men, women, adults and children alike all turned to the one thing Tony loved- technology- and they showed their support by creating hashtags which trended for months. All over the globe- Europe, Asia, North and South America, Africa, Australia- people showed their solidarity with Tony Stark.  
  
#TeamIronMan came before it became #TeamStark, which circled through the internet for a solid few months. Bruce wondered what it meant that Iron Man was traded to become Tony's civilian name, which was what the people shouted when they gathered to voice their opinions on what was going on. People shouted Tony Stark, not Iron Man, and perhaps that was what made it clear to Bruce that Tony was more than Iron Man no matter how much he claimed that he and the suit were one.  
  
#HeStandsForMe and #IStandForHim were used almost interchangeably.  
  
And their outrage at what Steve had done to the team also became hashtags that made Bruce grimace when he saw them. If people were willing to acknowledge and say that one of their oldest war heroes had fucked up, then Steve fucked up big time.  
  
#NotMyCaptain  
  
#IDemandJustice  
  
People gathered in protests and wore red and gold shirts and marched through the streets with large signs and angry chants like they were avenging a fallen loved one. In some ways, perhaps that was exactly what they were doing, with their righteous fury and gunsmoke breath and voices like gravel and shattered glass, with their eyes like lightning and barbed wire. They drew circles on their palms that looked like the arc reactor and raised it as they yelled for justice in the streets. The picture that ended up making rounds on the internet was unforgettable and would likely be in history books a hundred years from now.  
  
"Just… try to talk to him, please?" Bruce said, giving Tony a look that Tony hated because of how soft and pleading it was and how Tony could never say no to those eyes of his.  
  
He sighed. "Alright, fine. I will _try_ , but nothing more. What do I possibly have to lose? Sanity and dignity aside, of course," Tony said with a tight smile, swiping the hologram away. "I can't focus. I'm going to go for a swim, wanna go?"  
  
"A swim, huh? A lot has changed... I'm good, thanks," Bruce said absentmindedly, still typing away, the hologram casting a soft blue light to his face and for a second, Tony wished he had a camera to capture how soft and natural Bruce looked without anxiety or stress marring his face. With a small smile, Tony left the lab, needing some time to clear his head before tried to create any other weapons which could potentially destroy them all if Tony made a mistake and made it go loco. Again. The walk down to the indoor pool was quiet and uneventful, and thankfully the pool was empty. He stripped down and quickly put on some swimming shorts, sinking down into the cold water with a contented sigh as his mind stuttered to a stop for a second as it processed the sudden change in temperature.  
  
"Friday, honey, put on some music, please," Tony said, sitting down in the hot tub and letting the water reach his chest. He enjoyed being in water from time to time and could handle the water touching his hair without panicking anymore but he still liked to play it safe. And the hot tub was less deep and more calming than the pool, which made it infinitely better. He was here to relax, after all. A soothing violin melody played through the speakers and he gave Friday a thumbs up and smile. "Attagirl, you're learning."  
  
"I do try, sir."  
  
The minutes ticked by and Tony leaned his head back, closing his eyes and letting the sound of violins and water splashing wash over him, taking in the sensation of the water against his chest and the tiles under his back and his hair dripping water onto his shoulder. He was almost in a trance when he heard the door creak open and footsteps approach before they faltered to a stop. The door slammed shut behind whoever came in, but whoever entered remained where they were.  
  
"Don't just stand there on my account," Tony said, eyes still closed. The footsteps continued after a few seconds and Tony heard the water on the other side of the pool splash.  
  
"I didn't expect to see you at the pool," said Loki, looking at Tony with a curious look in his eyes, and Tony finally opened his eyes to look at the unexpected visitor. "Thor told me you weren't fond of water."  
  
"I didn't know he knew that about me. Didn't expect an Asgardian to really try to crack my tragic backstory," Tony responded, "and I didn't know you swam either. I guess it's the day of me not knowing things."  
  
Loki smiled, swimming closer to Tony and stopping to sit beside him in the hot tub. "My brother and I used to swim when we were young and had the time for each other. They had pools in Sakaar and I wasn't able to deny myself the pleasure of a swim and since then I've found this room to be my safe place. The other Avengers haven't exactly made it a secret how they do not trust me enough to get within ten feet of me."  
  
"Just don't have sex in this pool and we're good," Tony said, moving to let Loki sit beside him. "And if they give you problems, don't worry, you can punch them back. You signed the Accords, you're registered and cleared and therefore at liberty to defend yourself against them as long as no civilians are injured in the fight."  
  
Loki hummed, running a hand through his hair. "Your relationship with them has changed greatly in the past few years, I see. Might I share some observations and ask a couple of questions?"  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"I don't want to overstep any boundaries, but what happened between you and Steve Rogers? I could not help but notice the way you two skirt around one another and how the team is greatly different from what I remember. Are you and he lovers? What happened?" Loki asked, and Tony barked a laugh and shook his head in surprise. That wasn't what he'd been expecting.  
  
"Long story. But the short story is we _were_ a thing before he left me for his assassin best buddy that may or may not be his lover on the side," Tony answered lightly, shrugging his shoulders. "And now he's back and I'm not sure where that leaves us. We have a long way to go and I'm not sure if we could go back to what we were before because of said abandonment. Next question."  
  
"Perhaps more pressing but less interesting, there is a witch amongst you who can control minds and I have seen traces of her scarlet magic in the minds of your friends. She has been in their minds, playing with their emotions, though I am not sure how recent. I dulled her control over them and freed them from their predicament, but I must ask why nobody does anything about this?"  
  
The truth was that Tony had tried and failed to get the team to see their mistakes and realize that Wanda was dangerous but nobody listened. "They won't believe me," was what he said, and he detested the defeat in his own voice.  
  
There was a moment of silence before a hand pressed against his shoulder, squeezing briefly before dropping. "You should not hold their slights close enough to cradle, my friend. I know how slippery a slope wrath and resentment can be. I have been there. I understand your sorrow and I wish you find something to guide you back from that edge."  
  
Tony nodded with a brittle smile, eyes bare and open, all his pain in the open to see. This was something important, he could tell. Even he wasn't emotionally oblivious enough not to know that.  
  
"Do you like it here, Tony? Are you happy with this home?"  
  
The answer was at the tip of his tongue, and his chest twinged with the knowledge of how true of an answer it was when he truly considered it. He wasn't happy, but there was a small chance that one day, he might be. That was what kept him going. It was the only thing he had left to fuel him to keep putting his feet in front of the other. "No, but it's the only home I've got. And I've got people I care about inside of it, so… It's not perfect but it's tolerable. It's the best that I can have at the moment."  
  
There was no reply to his words, only sadness and nostalgia that stared back at him in Loki's eyes.  
  
Loki's eyes were blue, sky blue, with light specks spread out like stars across the galaxy. They were dark and dangerous like the gaze of Medusa but soft as gold and silk and Tony couldn't help but be drawn into the depths of them. There was something devastatingly human about him, something flawed and ugly and wrecked in his eyes and in the crooked curve of his smile. Tony loved it because it reminded him of himself when he looked in the mirror and practiced a smile for the masses and he saw the same shattered glass in Loki's eyes.  
  
"You're not that bad as they say," Tony said, looking out at the waves crashing against the walls of concrete.  
  
"Neither are you as bad as you seem to think."  
  
"Are you doing your mind magic on me?"  
  
"There is no need, you wear your sorrow like scars."  
  
Tony didn't know how to respond to that, so he stayed silent instead, listening to the melancholy piano tune drifting through the speakers and not commenting on the way Loki's shoulders pressed against his own.


	4. The Stars That We Wish On Are Only Airplanes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I fell in love with a beautiful boy  
> And you still take my breath away  
> When you left it was the end of my world  
> 'Cause I never got to say  
> That I love you  
> More than you think I do  
> And I love you  
> Now you don't want me to"  
> -I Love You, Alex and Sierra
> 
> Tony and Steve finally talk and Bucky gets a new arm.

Tony froze mid-stride when he saw Steve in the kitchen in front of the coffee maker that he was currently after. Before he could decide to walk away without incident though, Steve looked up and flashed him a disarming smile. "Morning, Tony. Have a good night's sleep?" he asked casually, focused on the shake he was currently making.  
  
"Great night's sleep, actually. And yourself?" Tony asked, waiting for the coffee machine to finish.  
  
"I slept well. I dreamt about… being in the middle of the war but I was busy trying to find a good signal because I had to call McDonald's for giving me the wrong order, but I'm not sure if I was their delivery boy or the irate customer," Steve responded, eyebrows furrowed as he remembered the odd dream. "I'm not sure what it means."  
  
Tony huffed, smiling, "lay off the crack, maybe." He met Steve's unguarded eyes, thinking that perhaps it was too early to talk with the one person who could make him unravel faster than should be legal but he was, at the moment, too sleepy to care. "How are you, Cap?"  
  
Steve's eyes, those beautiful eyes that had kept Tony sane for so long, looked away and he stopped stirring briefly. "I don't know, honestly. Now that I'm here I don't know what to do. I miss you, I miss being yours and you being mine, and I miss the times when things were simpler."  
  
"What happened to things with Bucky?" if Tony's voice was bit clippier than he'd intended, Steve didn't seem to notice.  
  
Steve shook his head. "He's healing, the doctors are helping him undo his programming so that's… good, I guess."  
  
"Are you and him lovers?" Tony blurted out the moment Steve stopped talking, unable to contain the burning curiosity and concern anymore and Steve jerked at the question, eyes darting up to meet his.  
  
"What? No! Tony, of course we're not, he's not even vaguely capable of something like that right now and I'm not… interested in him in that way. He's practically my brother," Steve explained, looking at Tony with those blue eyes of his, and Tony just nodded, keeping his gaze on the coffee maker. "Tony… did you think that's what I felt for him? That I was- I was trading you in for him? I would never do that to you. I would never- I could never-"  
  
The words weren't there to continue the sentence.  
  
Tony wrapped his arms around himself, blinking at the wall, temper sparking as the words poked too hard at a wound that hadn't closed up yet. "Gee, I don't know Rogers, maybe if you actually came _the fuck home_ I wouldn't have had to sit there wondering why you were there one day and gone the next." The tiled floor was cold against his bare feet and for a second he remembered the snow falling against him back in Siberia. His eyes stung with unshed tears and he clenched his teeth, trying to keep the anger from spilling over into hurt and tears. "7 months, Steven. You didn't come back, didn't call, all you sent was that fucking letter and flip-phone- which, by the way, is an even bigger insult than leaving. A fossil of a flip-phone sent to the creator of the StarkPhone, really?"  
  
Steve rubbed his shoulder sheepishly. "I could have probably thought that over a bit more, I'll admit."  
  
Tony gave a watery laugh, letting out a breath as the anger left as quickly as it had come, shoulders sagging. "I was trying to keep us together, Steve. I don't deny that I screwed up too, that I could have done things differently. But I was doing my best to keep you and me and the team safe."  
  
"I know," Steve said solemnly. "I made a lot of mistakes and I should have come home and trusted you instead of running away. I was doing what I thought was right at the time and I won't deny I will still try my best to protect Bucky because he's the last tie I have to my past, but I want you to know that I'll try not to make the same mistakes. I am-"  
  
Tony drummed his fingers against the counter, closing his eyes. _I'm not ready yet, Steve_. "If the next word that's about to come out of your mouth is 'sorry' you can stop right there. It's too early for apologies and to be honest, my coffee is almost done and I don't wanna have this conversation before my morning coffee." Silence followed his statement and it was only when the coffee finished and he took his first sip that Steve finally broke it.  
  
"I am, you know. I am sorry," Steve said, still slowly stirring the cup of gook in his hands. "I hope one day you can forgive me and we could go back to something close to what we had."  
  
Tony nodded, gulping down the scalding coffee confidently now that he knew his tongue wouldn't burn with the Extremis serum in his body. "So do I, Cap." _Except maybe I already forgave you._  
  
Tony didn't know what else he could say, the words that had been bubbling under the surface were all gone like smoke and talking made him ache inside like someone was wrapping a hand around his chest and squeezing. He just wanted things to be okay, but there were too many things they had to talk about, too many wounds needed addressing, and too many secrets and unsaid words had to be brought to light before they could actually even be anything close to okay. And right now wasn't the time. Tony wasn't ready yet.  
  
Steve wasn't ready yet.  
  
"Right, I'm going to the lab, so… you do your thing," Tony said as he placed the cup in the sink and left, leaving Steve staring after him with a sad excuse for a shake in his hands. The second the door slid shut, Tony leaned his head back against the wall of the elevator, closing his eyes. That hadn't gone as he'd hoped it would. "Take me to the lab, Fri, please."  
  
Friday's voice was soft and as close to sympathetic as it could get, "sure thing, boss."  
  
  
  
Tony gestured the lights on to his lab and almost jumped out of his skin, screeching in a way he would deny forever. When his he saw the dark figure sitting by the window, his surprise gave way to irritation. "You absolute-"  
  
"Did he confirm what I already told you?"  
  
Tony looked at him for a few seconds in shock, eyes flickering between him and the door, trying to understand why the fuck Bucky was sitting in his lab with the lights off like some cliche movie villain. "Hold on- how the hell did you even get in here?"  
  
"Banner sent me in. Not having a metal arm was messing up my gait, he said," Bucky responded, still facing away, not caring for the whiplash he was giving Tony.  
  
"Oookay," Tony drew out, raking his fingers through his hair as he told his heart it was a false alarm. "Do you make it your life mission to be as dramatic as humanly possible? You literally sat here in the dark when you could have turned the lights on with a word, waiting for me to come back just so you could do that thing. That mysterious glower and haunted vibes thing you love doing. What's up with that, man? I already told you my heart is one step away from giving up on my sorry ass. Well, that was before Extremis but I'd rather not push my luck."  
  
Bucky turned to him then, swiveling the chair around and giving Tony a small knowing smile. "He verified it, then. Did you tell him you've already forgiven him?"  
  
"No emotional talks before 10 am. I don't make the rules." Tony took a seat in front of Bucky and gave his attention to the remains of the metal arm that still hadn't been fixed. "Besides, I wanna talk to him in a controlled environment when I've got my speech planned out, not because we accidentally stumbled onto each other in the kitchen. I was caught unprepared this time so I'll talk to him at some later point in time. There's always a next time."  
  
Bucky hummed, "let's hope there is."  
  
Tony picked up a magnifying glass and examined Bucky's arm, paying attention to the skin around the remains of it. They'd definitely need to put a new one in ASAP. Problem was that Bucky'd been refusing everything that Tony'd been offering him: a comfortable bed, an arm, anything that one might count as a luxury. Tony thought it was self-punishment at first, but when Bucky said he was still getting used to things and needed to start with what he was used to (no luxury at all), Tony just allowed it. Even if he disagreed with Bucky's choices, he wanted to make sure Bucky was able to make his own choices, but now they really needed to do something about this arm.  
  
"Doesn't look good, Barnes," Tony said, tapping the metal stump and seeing Bucky flinch slightly. "The highly esteemed doctor- that would be me- highly suggests for you to accept a new arm from the highly talented and extremely handsome engineer. That's also me."  
  
Bucky chuckled, shaking his head at Tony's antics. Tony only returned his smile, going back to his examination of the arm. He couldn't really believe sometimes how he and Bucky had gotten a bit close after they both apologized to each other. Bucky was choiceless and voiceless for so long that he couldn't deny the relief he'd felt when Tony didn't tell him "it wasn't you" or "you were a victim" or any of the other bullshit he already knew but people kept repeating. He was relieved beyond belief when Tony didn't coddle him like everyone else did and he got treated like a normal adult. His apology was accepted and Tony gave him a second chance.  
  
Even though Bucky didn't miss the panic and distrust in Tony's eyes at first, slowly Tony grew to understand the difference between the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes at the same time as Bucky. While Bucky learned more about himself, they both learned some things about each other too.  
  
Some would even say they were something akin to friends.  
  
Bucky came to the lab from time to time and would just watch him work from the couch and they'd talk sometimes about matters they didn't find themselves comfortable sharing with others. They had a bit of an unspoken rule that when they were in the lab, nothing they did or said inside of it would ever be mentioned outside of the lab.  
  
It was a safe space for the both of them.  
  
So Tony talked about water in his lungs and his vision painted with red, about his chest being a canvas of blood because of something he didn't understand being buried in his chest against his will. About cold air in his lungs and concrete beneath his back and pain exploding through his chest and the reactor flickering out as the snow fell somewhere beyond him. About the way his father never told him he loved him, about how most relationships failed because he was afraid of intimacy, about the way he wanted to make sure that Peter didn't go down the path he had gone. About Steve Rogers and the pills on his mother's dresser and his fear of losing everyone he loved.  
  
And Bucky talked about waking up from a cold and invasive surgery and being called the Winter Soldier, about cages and needles to subdue and to tame, about the missions he'd done that still showed up in his dreams. He talked about waking up after the war and learning that the world had moved on without him. He talked about cold bunkers and commands in Russian and the blood that spilled onto concrete walls when he was pitted against the stronger Winter Soldiers. He talked about lifeless eyes and parentless children and the feeling that he couldn't outrun himself even if he wanted to. He talked about not being able to sleep unless if he pressed against the corner of the room and the panic that came with restraints and the notebooks where he wrote everything to keep from forgetting again. To keep from losing himself again.  
  
"You really need to let me put a new arm in, Barnes," Tony said, surveying the stump of metal left behind by the blast he'd fired. "It hurts, doesn't it? And it's going to mess up your gait even more if you don't let me do anything. I have a new arm for you, actually." He pushed his chair over to a different table, pulling off the white sheet and unveiling the metal arm underneath.  
  
It was beautiful if Bucky was going to be honest. It was still metal but it didn't have the star that the old one did, and its plating was smoother and looked less machine-like in spite of its silver color. "It's been improved to be made from lighter material and to have more feeling in it. You'll be able to differentiate between textures, sew, do whatever you want with your hand. You could also have it spray painted with different designs now that there are no more open ridges that could complicate designing it with paint, and it's been made so that there's no threat of it pinching or things jamming it," Tony rambled, picking up a pen to fiddle with as he told Bucky about the new features of the arm, half nervous and half excited.  
  
Bucky pressed his lips together. "No," he said, still staring at the arm so he didn't have to look at the hurt look flash across Tony's face.  
  
The look vanished in seconds, replaced by confusion and irritation. "I'm sorry, what? You need an arm, I made you an arm and now you're saying you don't want the arm. Something doesn't add up. Why don't you want it? You could spray-paint it, design it, cover it in synthetic skin- You could sew, you could feel plums, you could run your fingers through your Rapunzel hair- Why the hell don't you want the arm?"  
  
Bucky looked him in the eye, unwavering. "I'm not here for the luxury or the things you could give me, Tony. I need you to understand that my friendship doesn't come with a price."  
  
Tony gave Bucky a funny look, blinking a few times as he processed the words. "Okay… That's sweet in your weird, indirect, mysterious way I guess. But I want to give it to you. You're my friend, right? I make things for my friends. I enjoy making things for the people that are my friends. Just take the damn arm for god's sake. Not everything needs to be a big deal."  
  
Bucky frowned, pressing his real arm on the surface of the shiny new arm. "Tony."  
  
"Yeah, I'm the best, I know. How about I give a call to the medical team so they could drop by and we could have the procedure? I don't think it'll last more than an hour, tops. What do you say?" Tony asked, giving Bucky that look that meant he was asking just to give Bucky a choice. And he already had an opinion on the best course of action but he'd consider Bucky's words carefully. Bucky gave him a small nod, seeing Tony grin. "Great! The procedure will begin in about 20 minutes, come on."  
  
Tony pulled him from the table and led him to the medical ward where the doctors all seemed to already know their orders. "Friday already told them," Tony explained, casually walking into one of the rooms. "This is it, big guy. Your doctor will be Dr. Gaskell and I will be right outside watching, making sure they don't make any rookie mistakes but I assure you they won't. These guys are the real deal, so…"  
  
"I get it," Bucky answered, sitting down on the hospital bed the doctor gestured him onto. _In, out, in, out_ , he told himself, gritting his teeth to forget the times he'd been in similar positions but instead of sitting on his own he'd been screaming and fighting until they sedated him. He glanced over at Tony giving instructions to the doctor he could only assume was Gaskell herself, and clenched his hand into a fist to ground himself. Tony was there, overseeing the procedure. The doctor was clearly of Italian descent, not Russian. The room was warm and comfortable and not frightening and frigid.  
  
"My name is James Buchanan Barnes," he told himself under his breath to remind himself, closing his eyes. "I am Bucky. I am 98 years old. My favorite color… is blue." Small things about himself that were personal, said softly under his breath to ground himself and keep him in the present time, acting as an anchor to prevent him from slipping into the past.  
  
"You're an Avenger. You have friends in this building who would protect you. You're Bucky and you keep a pink bow in your nightstand that a little girl put in your hair," Tony added, and Bucky opened his eyes to see Tony standing a few feet away from him, looking down at him without pity or judgment in his eyes, only mild concern and understanding. Bucky knew that Tony often suffered from the same bouts of panic and spells of losing himself, unlike many of the others, so he found the way that Tony reacted to Bucky's episodes more comforting. One broken man to another. "You good? Should we postpone the procedure?"  
  
Bucky shook his head. "I'm ready." _Ready to comply_ , he used to say. The doctor pressed a needle into his arm and the last thing that he was was Tony's hand on his, brown eyes looking at him with nothing but genuine kindness that was more than Bucky ever deserved.  
  
Tony waited outside, watching, and he didn't move when Steve showed up to watch the procedure as well. Tony knew he'd come. It would be weird if he didn't. He sat on the opposite side of the room, keeping his eyes fixed on the glass, watching the doctors bark out orders to her subordinates. Steve settled down on one of the plastic chairs, his gaze flickering over to Tony every few seconds. "The others will be coming soon when he has his arm back. Nat and Clint ordered pizza and set up a movie… If you'd _like_ to watch, we'd love to have you there. We miss you."  
  
"Do you?" Tony murmured, still staring at the glass in spite of no longer being focused on the procedure going on inside of it.  
  
Steve nodded. "Yes, Tony. We all miss you. And we have much to prove to you. We have yet to earn your trust and earn your friendship back. We understand why you keep us at arm's length. _I_ understand why you keep _me_ at arm's length. I deserve it." Steve's looked over to where Bucky was, doctors writing on his skin in a marker to make sure that the arm was placed perfectly. "You like him though. I can't deny that was a surprise."  
  
"He didn't tiptoe around me," Tony said with a shrug. "Didn't really look at me with dislike or contempt or overwhelming guilt. Didn't angst about it too much. Didn't give me a soap opera script. His exact words were "We fucked up, Tony, I'm sorry and I wanna make it better" so… to the point, heartfelt and I accepted his apology and we moved forward. He's not bad, your Bucky. He's… not bad."  
  
"He's not mine, either," Steve said with a sigh, "I know that now. He's his own person and he's no longer the same Bucky I knew from my childhood. I'm still trying to understand the Bucky he is now. I have a lot to learn about him and I'm still struggling to accept that the Bucky I knew is gone and someone else walks in his skin. He's the last tie I have to… my life from before."  
  
Tony looked up when a woman walked into the room with a smile and a cup of coffee. "'Ello, Mister Stark. Coffee?" she asked, handing him a cup.  
  
"Oh, yes please, thank you darlin'," Tony said with a charming smile as he accepted it graciously. He would never be one to turn down a cup of coffee after all. She handed Steve a cup as well and gave Tony a big smile as she passed him. He winked at her on her way out, holding the coffee cup up in cheers. When the door closed and left them in silence, he leaned back and took a sip. Not bad. "Anyways, I do understand that. I understand your motives, your reasoning, all that psychology crap. I get it. I don't fault you for it. I don't agree with it, but I get it."  
  
Steve laughed mirthlessly. "You're a damn bigger person than I am, then."  
  
"No," Tony said, closing his eyes. "Don't start with that. This isn't a contest of who fucked up more, who's the bigger person, who's morally more sound than the other person. This isn't that- and I'm pretty sure you're morally more sound than me anyways. I mean you can smell evil half the globe away. I can't smell evil a few feet away, which might explain why I always end up being betrayed. Obadiah Stane ring a bell? _Decades_ of being right beside him. I treated him like my dad for god's sake which really makes everything even more messed up. Talk about trust issues. I'm rambling now, I should stop." He stopped to take a deep breath, trying to focus again on what he was trying to work up to saying. He'd always had a bad habit of rambling when he was nervous and talking about emotional topics.  
  
"Point is, I forgive you, Cap, I do. There, I said it: I forgive you. But trust you? Well honestly, no, I don't. That'll take a while longer to build up."  
  
Steve was in shock for the whole of thirty seconds, looking at Tony with those wide and mournful eyes while Tony awkwardly sat there and waited for him to snap out of it. "Tony," he breathed, unable to say anything else. The minutes ticked on and Tony finished the coffee in record time, watching as Dr. Gaskell finished the calculations and began the operation.  
  
Then, softly, "what are we, Tony? Where are we at right now?"  
  
Tony swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. That was a question that he hadn't prepared for or expected. He'd assumed they were done when Steve walked out of the bunker, didn't think that Steve would even want him after seeing him at one of the lowest points of his life.  
  
Didn't think that they would be able to come to a point where he could stand in the same room as Steve without dissolving.  
  
"I don't know," he responded honestly. "We're two assholes trying to figure our shit out and trying to put our family back together again."  
  
Steve took that in. "Do you think we could go back to what we were?"  
  
"Maybe give it some time before you ask that, Steve," said Tony, tossing the empty cup into the trash bin. Perfect shot. "Just give it time."  
  
Neither of them broke the silence after that, watching Bucky's arm get placed, watching the counter to the sedative injected into him before the doctor signaled to them that it was safe to enter. Steve and Tony walked there together, with Clint and Natasha trailing behind, staying close to the door.  
  
Bucky's eyes flew open, wide and wild, his breaths coming in pants as he struggled to gain his bearings. Images of when he was in a situation similar to this exploded in his brain- he remembered having his arms strapped down as doctors hovered over him with cruel smiles on their porcelain faces. He remembered the pools of crimson that poured from their bodies before they managed to subdue him.  
  
Blood roared in his ears, his heart racing in his chest, and he didn't understand what was going on.  
  
"James Buchanan Barnes," he heard and his eyes flew over to who spoke, confused. James. James. They never called him James. They burned that name right out of him along with everything else he knew about himself. "Your name- Bucky- come back- we're- you awake- James?" He blinked a few times to clear his head, the picture clearing, the sound becoming less muffled in his ears. There were no restraints this time, no cruel jeers or laughter.  
  
Instead of unfamiliar doctors, he saw the familiar warm blue eyes of his best friend and the soft brown ones of the friend who'd made his arm.  
  
His arm!  
  
He looked down to inspect it closer, moving the fingers in surprise when he could actually _feel_ the movement, feeling the way the metal slid across each other just like he could feel the muscles in his working hand. He looked up with a wide smile that was bordering on teary when he traced his fingers over the cloth of the bed and he could actually feel it against the tips of his fingers. Tony, though, was pale in spite of his proud smile when Bucky balled his hands into fists.  
  
Those hands had once tried to rip out the arc reactor from his chest. Once choked the life out of a woman with a son waiting at home for her.  
  
Bucky noted the unsteady rise and fall of Tony's chest, not commenting on it. Publicly calling Tony's anxiety out only ever made it worse and usually ended in Tony leaving the room. He returned Steve's smile instead and waved to the two spies near the door who gave him a thumbs up. He turned his gaze back to Tony.  
  
"Thank you, Tony," Bucky said, making sure to keep his eyes earnest. "This is more than I deserve. You're too good to me, runt."  
  
Tony raised a finger. "Um, first, use that nickname again and you're going to have dishwashing duties for… forever. Second, you're welcome for the arm. Third, my shirt is a Chanel shirt custom-made for me so we're not going to do that whole touchy-feely chick-flick bullcrap because I don't want tears to ruin the flamboyant and delicate strings that were purchased because of my not-so-discreet urge to hide my personal flaws with pricey things." He offered Bucky a hand, pulling him to a sitting position. "How's it feel?"  
  
"It feels amazing."  
  
Steve beamed at them, placing a hand on the soft metal arm. Warmth spread where his hand made contact and Bucky barely contained himself from crying from the joy caused by something so simple. "You look great, Buck."  
  
Bruce wandered into the room checking over the reports he'd received and walked over to them. "Alright so this should, in theory, help you with your uneven gait but you'll need to attend physical therapy regularly to help you with learning how to control the strength of your hands and also learn how to use it in daily living. Tuesday sound good?" Bucky nodded. "Great."  
  
"There's pizza and I made brownies," Clint said, walking forward now that the trio had gotten their emotional tension out of the way. "We're going to have a movie night. It's not optional."  
  
Tony raised an eyebrow, pulling on the hem of his shirt on reflex. "Right well, exit stage Tony," he said, trying to slip between Clint and Natasha which proved to be a futile effort when they both held their arms out, blocking him from his only escape.  
  
 _Nononononono._ _  
_  
Clint gave him a smirk. "No can do, Stark. You're part of the team and that means you'll be watching the movie with us. It's a rule carved in stone: all avengers must participate in movie nights."  
  
"Sorry, remind me when I suddenly seemed to care about rules? I mean, have you met me? Hi, Tony Stark, biggest asshole and rule-breaker of the universe. Move out the way, Hawk-ass, I've got shit to do."  
  
 _I can't, I can't, I can't._  
  
Bucky frowned. "Tony, I'm sure it won't be that bad if you join us for one night."  
  
Tony looked heavenwards. _Deflect, deflect, deflect._ "Oh my gods he's doing that thing with his voice. The mother hen voice," he said, looking to Bruce. "He's giving me the mother hen voice. That was Steve's thing and now _he's_ doing it. That means there's two of them now. Two mother hens in one team is two too many, Bruce. Someone has to do something about this and I think that responsibility sorta lies on your shoulders because unlike the majority of the team you're a certified adult who knows what he's doing and also not a mother hen so you should be the one to deal with this problem. I'm assigning you to deal with this urgent issue. "  
  
Bruce only gave him a small smile. "We-ell," he responded, shrugging. "I sorta agree with them on this one, Tony."  
  
"Bruce, you said you'd protect me. I'm calling on that favor now."  
  
Sputtering incredulously, Bruce replied, "from enemies, Tony! I'm not going to- you can't expect me to attack them for trying to involve you in a team bonding exercise!"  
  
"Why not?" Tony asked as if his request was perfectly reasonable. After a few seconds of staring at Bruce, he cracked a smile and shrugged. "Alright, one night of movies and pizza and sweet, sweet storge. I don't suppose I could say no. Lead the way, Clinton."  
  
Clint grimaced at the name. "It's Clint, asshole."  
  
"It's Supreme Overlord for _you_ , asshole."  
  
Theoretically, this could all end in a disaster. Tony went along with it anyway, ignoring the pangs in his mind screaming _threat! Danger! Abort mission, abort!_ __  
  
They walked to the communal floor, already filling in with some of the other Avengers.


	5. The Love That We're Chasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You loved me 'cause I'm fragile  
> When I thought that I was strong  
> And you touch me for a little while  
> And all my fragile strength is gone
> 
> Set me free  
> Leave me be  
> I don't wanna fall another moment into your gravity"  
> -Alex and Sierra, Gravity
> 
> The team watches a movie, Loki makes an offer to Tony, Peter and Tony spend some quality father/son bonding time dealing with a murder.

The communal floor had a spacious circular indoor theater with a large sofa pressed against the far wall with single and double-seat recliners spread throughout the room with coffee tables to separate them, giving it the feeling of a professional theater rather than a home theater. Next to it was a kitchen and two bathrooms, with a few guest bedrooms for whoever was too drunk or tired to make it to their own floors, as well as a medium-sized jacuzzi and sauna.   
  
Tony'd really gone all out on this one. The urge to spend money on things most people considered over-the-top was a very real thing for Tony when he was in a mental rut and needed something to focus on. If he weren't a billionaire and owner of a company, he'd probably be in debt for half the unnecessary shit he bought.  
  
Thor was talking animatedly with Rhodey and Sam about some of the wars that Asgard had fought, and they all seemed to be at least a little tipsy. Loki was lounging on the sofa, reading a book, flipping the pages with seidr like a diva rather than manually doing so.   
  
"Fri?" Tony called when he entered the room and didn't see their local spider-boy inside. "Can you give me a report on Pete's whereabouts and what he's doing at the moment?"  
  
Friday answered immediately, "Little Boss is currently on his way home, sir. He was with Ned Leeds building a Lego set as they had agreed to do yesterday afternoon."  
  
With the knowledge that Peter would be home soon and wouldn't be doing any patrolling tonight, Tony took a seat beside Loki and gave him a small smile. "Didn't expect to see you here, Lokes," Tony said, leaning back as Clint brought out six boxes of pizza and three boxes of hot wings. They handed around the boxes, each taking whatever type of pizza they preferred. "What do you want? Pepperoni, Hawaiian, cheese, sausage?"  
  
Loki heaved a great sigh, looking them over before he shrugged and turned back to his book. Nerd. "I don't know. Surprise me."  
  
Tony grinned. "I've been told I'm good at surprises. Of course, most of those surprises usually involve-" he stopped himself from finishing the dirty joke that was on his tongue, shaking his head at himself. Boundaries. "Well, let's start with sausage pizza. You seem like a sausage or pepperoni type of guy. Simple, classy, decent."   
  
Loki took the slice from Tony's hands, smiling. "Thank you," he said, taking a bite out of the pizza, rolling the taste over. It wasn't bad as he'd expected and if he has time to get used to it, perhaps he might find that he'd enjoy it. "I think I like it."  
  
Tony gave him a soft smile just as Peter walked in the door, out of breath and still holding his backpack. Tony moved over to give him space beside him, placing a hand on his back. "Did you run?"  
  
"Yes, sir. Karen told me that you were wondering where I was, so… I- I um, well, there was also the fact that I bumped into a guy who stole a woman's bag on the way home, so there's that," Peter admitted mid-sentence, leaning back against the sofa that was so comfortable it was practically made of clouds. Sometimes he forgot how luxurious life with Mr. Stark was and then he'd sit on a sofa imported straight from heaven or he'd have Mr. Stark pick him up from school in an Audi R8 e-tron more expensive than the school itself and he'd remember. Mr. Stark was a billionaire who could probably buy half of the people of New York if he wanted to badly enough.   
  
The indoor theater still left him in awe. The colors on the ceiling were made to look like the galaxy and the polished gray porcelain floors- if that was what it was called because Peter didn't know the slightest thing about building materials that weren't for tech and knew next to nothing about floors- made the room look majestic. And the way that it was built to contain around twenty people or more if some weren't against sitting on the floor made his head spin. He was just a kid from Queens who used to live in a shady apartment complex in a lower-middle-class neighborhood. He would have never dreamt that one day he'd be sitting in Tony Stark's living room with the Avengers eating pizza.   
  
Tony just smiled, nodding and handing him a slice of pepperoni. "Movie's about to start. Apparently watching it isn't optional. Grab some food, lean back, promptly fall asleep because I think Clint picked the movie." He dodged the empty carton thrown his way, swatting it away from him.   
  
"Hey! Watch it," Rhodey snapped when the carton hit him in the back, looking back to see who threw it.   
  
"It was Clint!" Tony defended himself, earning himself an eye-roll. Peter laughed beside him, just watching the chaos. Tony put an arm around his shoulders casually, watching the Avengers begin to walk into the room and take their seats on the couch. Natasha and Clint sat together on a double recliner, already moving into one another's space like they'd been doing so all their life. Thor, Rhodey, and Sam were on the other side of the couch, and Bruce occupied a single recliner on his own, stretching out. From across the room, Tony could make out Bucky and Steve sitting together and met their eyes.  
  
Steve's eyes flicked between Tony and the two people at his side, frowning. Loki was on his left still eating a slice of pizza that Tony had handed him, shoulders pressed against Tony's, and Peter was sitting on Tony's right looking around with wide, innocent eyes. For a second, Steve's heart ached and broke just a tiny bit more as he thought about the image they gave. That should have been him sitting beside Tony and Peter, not some washed up god that only teenagers seemed to take seriously.  
  
For a second he wanted to stalk over to the trio and bare his teeth, demanding a place beside Tony like he used to have- demanding that Loki move away and leave Tony alone.    
  
But he'd forfeited that right the moment he chose to go after Bucky instead of staying with Tony, who needed him too. He no longer had the right to be jealous. They weren't even a _thing_. He still had to earn that back.  
  
Steve looked away before the sadness and longing (and jealousy) turned into anger.   
  
"Sir, what movie are we watching?" Peter asked in a whisper, afraid that if he spoke louder someone would tell him to leave. He was still getting used to the idea he was an Avenger now, no matter how unofficially.   
  
Tony shrugged. "Hey, Clint, what movie are we watching?"  
  
"House of Wax," Clint answered, "I wanted to make sure that Cap watches it. It's a classic."  
  
Tony took a chug of his soda, nodding. He couldn't deny it was a good film, after all. Vision came into the room with several bowls of popcorn, handing them out before he took his seat on one of the single seats, averting his eyes from Wanda's gaze. Tony couldn't deny how weird it was that an AI could actually hold a grudge over being thrown several floors into the ground by someone he considered a friend. And he couldn't deny that it was also sad the first time he saw Wanda after seeing Vision again, only to be ignored by her ex-friend who was still sporting hurt feelings over the entire thing.   
  
He didn't really care if he was to be honest. She was tinkering with everyone's minds until recently. This was payback.   
  
"Mr. Stark, what's House of Wax about?" Peter whispered when the lights clicked off and the movie started rolling. "Is it, like, something about a wax sculpture that's alive? Like a little town of wax people doing wax people-things? Do wax-people have candles on their birthday cakes, sir? Would they break their arm and then just… glue it back on? Or is there a different procedure they follow when it comes to re-attaching limbs?"  
  
Clint's laughter could be heard across the room. "Oh boy, he'll be in for a surprise," he said to Natasha, who only elbowed him and told him to shut up.  
  
Tony struggled to keep up with the rapid-fire questions, trying to understand how they went from the house of wax to wax-people prosthetics. The kid's mind worked in ways that he would never understand. And people said _he_ talked too fast. Obviously, they've never met Peter Parker. "Woah, woah, hold up, Peter. Just… watch the movie, alright? You'll learn what it's about in a while, just watch it."  
  
So Peter nodded, sitting back and eating his popcorn, entranced by the movie.  
  
Which was not filled with a town of happy wax people with birthday cakes that didn't have candles.   
  
It was _very_ different from what Peter had in mind. And now that he was watching it and he knew Mr. Hawkeye liked the movie and Mr. Stark agreed, there was no way he could back out from watching it just because he wasn't really fond of horror movies. Saying that they scared him and he often ended up dreaming about what he watched was a lame excuse to give to the literal avengers, who were brave and strong and probably didn't fear a stupid movie anyway.   
  
If Peter didn't want to be kicked off the team for being such a wuss, then he'd have to deal with watching a few scary movies from now on.   
  
Even if he really, really didn't want to watch them and kept flinching.   
  
The movie finished, lights clicking on as conversations broke out between the team. Tony was still sitting back relaxed when he noticed how tense Peter was beside him. "Hey, kid, you alright?"  
  
"Alright? Yeah! Yeah, of course, why-why wouldn't I be, you know? I'm just tired. Very tired. I'm going to bed now, Mr. Stark, bye!" Peter said in a rush, speeding out of the room like he had the hounds of hell nipping at his feet. Tony hardly got a word in before he was gone.   
  
Sighing, Tony looked around the room, seeing Bucky asleep with his mouth open, Steve talking to Sam about the film, and Rhodey already leaving the room. Clint and Natasha were both still sitting casually in their little area of the room, obviously comfortable enough where they were at the moment. They all seemed terribly domestic. Even Bruce looked at home, feet up and dozing. The light mood made Tony ache with longing, chest clenching at everything he couldn't have.  
  
They were all bound and belonged together and Tony was standing on the other end of the glass, looking in and hoping for a place like some misplaced child with nowhere else to go, unseen as he cried in the middle of a crowd of smiling faces. It was almost ironic, that in the eyes of the public he was the star, someone who could claim any room he steps foot in, but when he was at home he was invisible. The press would have a field day if they found out how familiar of a feeling that was to Tony. Tony could already see the headlines in his head: 'TONY STARK: IS HIS SUAVE, WITTY PERSONA ALL AN ACT TO KEEP HIS ANXIETY AT BAY?', 'IS OUR IRON MAN SOFTER INSIDE THAN HE LETS ON?', and possibly 'TONY STARK HUMAN AFTER ALL'.   
  
Without anything else to do in the room and nobody else to talk to, Tony got up and started for the door.   
  
"Stark," he heard, and he turned to look back at Loki, who was still seated on the couch and seemed to consider something. He waited for Loki to look up and exhale before he spoke. "Would you care to join me for a while? I have matters to discuss with you." Tony looked around; the others were all still caught up in conversation, animatedly talking.   
  
He nodded. Not like there were any other plans he had for the night.  
  
Loki smiled, standing in front of Tony in his clothes that Tony had bought for him when he came to live in the tower. So far he'd been fond of the silk long-sleeved black shirt, pushing it up to his elbows, leaving the top buttons undone just like Tony'd told him. Nobody in the tower could deny that Loki looked decent now that he was mostly morally neutral, sticking to normal and non-lethal mischief.   
  
It sure was great to have one person in the building that wasn't actively trying to kill him anymore and seemed genuinely happy with his presence.   
  
"Lead the way," Tony said, moving back to let him go first, following him as they entered the elevator. He broke the silence. "You know, they're not that bad. They're good once you get to know them."  
  
Loki didn't respond immediately, fingers tracing patterns onto the wall. He raised an eyebrow at Tony, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "And you say this for my sake or your own?"  
  
Tony let out a soft laugh, shrugging. "Funny thing is I'm not quite sure at the moment. We're still fixing things, Shakespeare." He said nothing as the elevator only kept going up, past Loki's floor and past his own, not stopping until they were on the rooftop. "Oh, round two? Can't say I'm looking forward to being tossed off my own building again, but go off, I guess."  
  
Loki only snorted, strolling over to the edge and looking up at the sky, eyes wistful in a way that Tony had never seen before. "There is a world, beyond what you know," Loki said, sitting down and swinging his legs over the side of the building, unafraid of falling. After a moment's hesitation, Tony took a seat beside him, looking up at the dark sky with stars splattered across like drops of honey. "A place for all lost and unloved things. On the edge of cosmic gateways, a place between the known and unknown, it is a home for everyone so lost they cannot find even themselves."  
  
Tony spread his palms over his thighs, swinging his legs as they dangled over the edge. "You're leaving." It wasn't a question. Loki's tone made it clear he yearned for this place like nothing else and his heart belonged there.   
  
"Yes," Loki said simply, eyes dreamy as he kept his intense stare at the sky. "I am leaving in a month, give or take. I wish for you to go with me, Anthony. You have said it yourself: this is the only home you've got and that is why you must be content with it. But I am offering you an alternative. You can come with me to Sakaar, meet the Grandmaster, find yourself someone to keep you company at night who will not judge you for being broken or dejected. It is not perfect but it is better than here."  
  
And sue him, Tony was almost tempted to say yes.   
  
This home hadn't been a home for ages. What more did he have to lose? Was it selfish to want to leave for a little bit, to ask for a break from everything?   
  
He'd spent months working his ass off to fix the Accords, trying to fix everything the rogues broke, going to interview after interview to keep the public from panicking over their team of defenders laying in the ruins they'd made of themselves. He'd worked day and night to modify Extremis for himself and Rhodey, had built orphanages and shelters for the people who'd lost their homes and families due to the Avengers, had dealt with nightmares and his own anxiety day after day, night after night.  
  
So yes, he almost agreed.   
  
Then he remembered the way Rhodey would always have his back no matter what type of shit Tony got into or did, the times they spent together in MIT and beyond, the times they'd spent just goofing around like brothers.   
  
He remembered the countless hours that Bruce spent in the lab with him when he was worried about Tony's shaking hands and knew that Tony was one step away from spiraling into the abyss.   
  
He remembered Thor's sympathetic eyes as he pulled Tony from the floor and shook sense into him after he'd fallen into one of the darker corners of his mind. Tony'd melted into his arms like a drowning man clinging to his only hope of rescue.  
  
And Peter? Tony was all Peter had left, family-wise. The responsibility to make sure Peter ended up okay fell on his shoulders and his alone and Tony, no matter what, couldn't fuck that up like Howard did for him.  
  
"I can't," Tony sighed, dropping his gaze to his hands. "Peter- he needs me."   
  
He wanted to go. Perhaps that was worse than the feeling of wanting to go. The knowledge of wanting to go was like placing his hand on a stove and knowing he could let go at any minute but if he did he'd have to face the judgment on people's faces.   
  
Bad analogy. There was a reason he preferred science over poetry.  
  
Loki's eyes were unsurprised and held only the faintest hint of disappointment at Tony's answer. "I understand. You can turn the idea over in your mind until the day of my departure. Thor already knows I am leaving and as does the officials that oversee my 'case' so that I will not be a prisoner when I return. Thor's idea. He's becoming more and more of a king as the days pass." He stood, walking back to the elevator and leaving Tony sitting there at the edge of the building. "You're not as bad as you think, Stark. Remember that."  
  
"Wait!" Tony called, turning so that he was facing Loki's retreating back. Loki stopped walking but didn't turn around to face him. "Why?"  
  
"Why?" Loki parroted even though Tony had no doubt he knew what Tony was asking.   
  
"Why me?" _Why are you giving me a chance to escape the hell I call a home?_  
  
Loki was still, moonlight casting a soft glow to what Tony could see of his face. "You remind me an awful lot of myself. It's uncanny sometimes, looking at you and seeing an echo of everything I was. Yet I was given a chance to find myself and heal the wounds inflicted upon my soul while I was on Sakaar. They let me have a second chance, remedying the sorrows that I'd lugged around for too long. I found people who looked at me and saw someone worth loving," Loki explained. "They gave me a chance to be myself and make a home for myself. I think you deserve the chance to have that as well. The Grandmaster would be fond of you, I think, just as he was fond of me. He always loves the most broken of people and knows best in how to put them back together. That is what made me grow to… love him."  
  
Tony watched him go, sighing as he sat on the edge of the building for a little while longer, needing to organize his thoughts. He kept staring at the sky, turning over the idea of leaving in his head, memories snaking their way to the front of his mind until he was too deep in his mind to remember he was still sitting on the edge of the compound.   
  
"Sir?" Friday's voice called Tony back from the depths of his mind and he blinked, realizing that the sky had started to transition from midnight to dawn. Checking his watch, he realized that it was 4:57 am, and he let out a low curse. Time sure flies when one was stuck in their own mind. "Shall I alert your crisis contacts and tell them it's a Code 13?"  
  
Tony shook his head. "I'm fine, Friday. It's not a Code 13, don't worry. I'm just trying to clear my head."  
  
"Assuming you haven't responded to me for the last few hours, sir, I would think it's safe to say your mind is only getting more scattered," Friday responded, concern audible in her voice. How funny, Tony thought, that the one to show concern for his life would be a robot he'd created. "I must insist you step away from the edge, boss."  
  
Tony shook his head. "Just a bit longer, Friday. I'm just watching the sunset."  
  
"It's morning, sir, therefore you are watching a sun _rise_. Personally, I suggest watching it a few feet further away from the edge of a 20-story building. I'm rather skeptical your advanced healing could heal you from that without any effects on you like it did the last time."  
  
"Where's the fun in that?" he said with a hollow laugh and she stopped responding.  
  
Tony knew why she was worried. It had been after Siberia and before Peter waltzed into Tony's life, between the letter and the Vulture, the stretch of time when Tony was alone and trying to pick up the pieces of his broken home. Tony had kept Peter at arm's length at the time, assigning Happy to his case because everyone he came into contact with only seemed to burn. And he couldn't have that on his conscience, not after everything. He was drowning in the ashes already, as it was.   
  
So one night, after a few too many hours spent awake, he finally crumbled under the weight on his shoulders and took a few too many pills that ended in Rhodey sitting beside his hospital bed with the question of _why_ burning in his eyes.  
  
Like an idiot, he hadn't counted on his Extremis serum being so potent that it would burn through the contents of the pills like they were nothing. None of the tested poisons could kill him for a very similar reason. He was, technically, immortal.   
  
And nobody told him how much of a burden immortality was to bear.   
  
He hadn't counted on his genius intellect backfiring in such an ironic way. Which in itself was ironic. Man makes a superhuman serum to keep him alive while battling bad guys, grows depressed, tries to kill himself and he weeps when he finds out there's no escape from his shit-hole life because of the serum that he himself made. Sounded like the plot of a bad novel.  
  
He survived, woke up with a migraine, got The Talk (the _don't kill yourself_ talk) from several people who had very different ways of giving it. Fury was slightly angry but Tony figured it was out of concern and protectiveness, Rhodey was sadder and intellectually engaging ( _why?_ he'd asked and Tony had to scramble to put his scattered thoughts into words to explain) and didn't for a second show anger over the entire thing. Happy sat by his bedside until Fury said Tony could leave the medical ward. Pepper cried, looking torn between slapping him across the face and hugging him. In the end, she settled for the latter.  
  
He was put on The Watch and Fury made him go to therapy to sort his shit out. After that, Friday'd been a bit worried and so were the others who looked at him like they couldn't quite fathom why he'd go to such lengths to escape the feelings of helplessness and fear and loneliness.   
  
"Activating Code 13 protoc-"  
  
"Alright, alright, I'm stepping away, Jesus Christ you're worse than-" Tony stopped before the name _Steve_ left his lips, heading into the elevator. Hopefully, he could get a bit of work done in his lab until someone would inevitably bother him and force him to do normal human things like eating or sleep. They obviously didn't grasp the whole superhero-invincibility thing.   
  
"Thank you, boss."  
  
He was almost down to the lab when the elevator opened and Peter stepped on, eyes downcast. All thoughts of tinkering and moping about vanished and Tony frowned in concern, eyes immediately scanning over the kid for injuries. "What's up, kid, why're you up at the buttcrack of dawn? What's with the long face?"  
  
"I'm just tired, sir. I was going downstairs to the kitchen for something to eat. Can you join me?" Peter asked, meek and hesitant to ask for Tony's time. He looked horribly small wearing the oversized sweater that Tony'd given him. It was one of Steve's, if Tony remembered correctly. Steve hadn't really worn it and Peter- Tony learned quickly- didn't have too many good clothes so Tony'd tossed him the sweater without thinking when Peter asked him if he could go out with his buddy Ned. Peter hadn't thought twice before putting it on, beaming at Tony as if he'd just given the kid a piece of gold instead of a simple blue sweater.  
  
It was the small things, Tony learned.   
  
He looked, if Tony dared to even think it, adorable in the way that all innocent and pure things were, as if he could do no wrong.  
  
"Sure thing, yeah," Tony agreed, putting his hands in his pockets. "Why're you up anyway? It's early."  
  
Peter bowed his head, fiddling with the ends of the sweater that reached his knuckles. "No reason," he murmured, trying to fight the burning of embarrassment as he stepped back and leaned against the wall. "Just woke up is all."  
  
Sounded like absolute bullshit but it seemed like the day was the day of bullshitting others so Tony didn't say anything until they stepped into the kitchen. "You want pancakes, cereal or oatmeal?"  
  
"I'll have some cereal," Peter replied, pulling out two bowls without asking if Tony wanted some, already knowing that if given the choice, Tony would refuse. Tony would sooner cut off his own right hand than admit that he was hungry and would like some food. Tony accepted it without a word, eyes glazed over in thought as Peter sat across from him and ate quietly. "How was your night?"  
  
"Interesting, to say the least," Tony responded blandly, deciding not to mention Loki's offer to Peter. Abandonment was a fear that Peter had after losing every parental figure from birth and Tony didn't want to be the one to trigger the dam into breaking. He knew how crushing that fear could be. "You know, kid... you don't have school today, right?"  
  
"It's Saturday, sir. And we have the next week off."  
  
Tony looked up from his cereal, surprised. "Why? Holiday?"  
  
Peter shook his head. "Parent-teacher conferences," he said, voice low as his eyes betrayed the sadness over knowing that with May gone, there was nobody to attend.   
  
"Peter, why didn't you tell me?" Tony asked. "When is yours? I mean, isn't there a time and place for that sorta thing? I wouldn't really know, my dad didn't even attend my graduation for god's sake. My mom, she tried, but y'know. Busy enough that she could only attend celebrations and not the little things like conferences. I was in boarding school for that very reason and I'm pretty sure the day I left was the happiest I ever saw my dad while in my general vicinity. Anyways, I'm going to go to yours. Stopping the cycle of neglect and childhood trauma with me."  
  
"Mr. Stark," Peter said, swallowing before he turned to look at Tony. "You don't have to do that, it's okay. I know you're busy."   
  
Tony'd done research, of course, about grieving teens and big changes and trauma. He knew about the millions of neglected and anxious teenagers who've gotten used to pleasing others before accepting help, who were so used to being the caregiver and the one understanding and giving that they weren't used to being cared for. Pepper had given him a bundle of books on parenting after she found out about Peter becoming a constant in Tony's life and after she knew that Tony wasn't going to half-ass things, she even gave him a kiss on the cheek.  
  
"I want to, kiddo. When is it?"  
  
Peter was silent for a few seconds before he answered, "Thursday, 1 pm. Mr. Smith's classroom, room 104."    
  
Tony nodded, filing that away for later. "Alright, anyways the reason I ask is that I wanted to ask if you were up to hanging out today. Zoo, arcade, ice cream, anything you wanna do in particular?"  
  
Peter perked up, looking at Tony with excited eyes. "Can we go to the zoo? I've always wanted to go."  
  
Tony rolled his sleeves up, tapping on the faucet. "You haven't gone yet?"   
  
Didn't schools take their students to zoos anymore?  
  
"Well, you know, it's uh, I did, when I was in kindergarten but I don't really remember it," Peter responded, handing his bowl over to Tony.  
  
"Yeah, sure, we can go to the zoo. Go get ready, I'll just finish up the dishes and take a quick shower to freshen up. Can't have the paparazzi seeing me at anything less than a 10. Sexiest man alive's gotta serve looks all day, every day," Tony said, smirking at the loud groan of exasperation he received from Peter.   
  
"That was like _years_ ago, Mr. Stark," Peter said with his lips quirked up. "You can't keep pulling the sexiest man alive card."  
  
Tony laughed, shaking his head as he kept washing the dishes. "It was three years ago to be specific. Not a long stretch of time, relatively speaking. And there's a rather good percentage that I'll win the award again this year. You know what that means?"  
  
"You bought your way into getting the award?"  
  
"Your _padre_  is as good-looking as Brad Pitt. You oughta be proud, kid, being in my presence so much. Let's hope you manage to soak in some of my coolness from being around me."   
  
Peter snorted, shaking his head as he walked the room without gracing Tony with an answer. Tony smiled, turning back to the dishes.   
  
An idea of making a new AI formed in his head as he worked, someone to be friends with his oldest children, Dum-E and You. After Jarvis, he hadn't really made that many new AI's just for the fun of it because it felt so much like replacing a friend, a child, and a father. Jarvis had been the only one to care for him and raised him as a child, but Tony had remade him, captured his essence in an AI and then proceeded to watch him _grow_ and evolve from a robot to something with a soul. Tony had slowly watched him mature and learn how to snap back with quips and he'd felt almost like a father to the AI at times as he saw his creation go beyond him. And then Jarvis grew to be just like Edwin Jarvis; he took care of Tony and gave him company whenever Tony had nobody else.   
  
Tony, desperate to escape his own loneliness, depended on him.  
  
And when he lost Jarvis, he'd grieved like he'd lost his flesh and blood son. It was like losing Jarvis all over again and it _hurt_. Vision was what came after, but unlike Jarvis, Vision wasn't truly _his_ and Vision hadn't needed him. Tony tried to ignore how much it hurt to hear Jarvis' voice but know that he was gone.   
  
Tony turned the faucet off, wiping his hands on his shirt as he walked to the elevator and got ready for the day. He had a hyper spider-kid to take to the zoo.  He would need all the energy he had.   
  
On his way out of the door, he grabbed his backpack filled with essentials and met Peter at the door, sharing a grin with the kid who was vibrating with excitement. "Ready, Pete?"  
  
"Ready, Mr. Stark!"  
  
"Great, it's only 7 am but the drive will probably take a few hours so hopefully, by the time we get there it's open. If not, we could walk around the nearby park for a while until it's open."  
  
\--  
  
The weather was warm and sunny by the time it was afternoon, and Tony let out a content sigh as he laid on the grass, eyes closed under his sunglasses. A few yards away, Peter was swinging on the swingset, looking radiant and untroubled as he played. He'd come a long way from stammering every time he talked to Tony, always trying to make himself smaller and be less of a 'burden' on the billionaire. Tony had taken a while to peel away the walls that Peter built up around himself and as time passed, he saw more and more of the bubbly kid he adored.  
  
Tony might have taken a few pictures of Peter and himself when Peter wasn't looking. Pictures that he would deny if anybody asked because he still had a reputation to uphold.   
  
Tony opened his eyes and turned to look at Peter just in time to see him letting go of the swing and go sailing through the air which would have been slightly risky for an ordinary kid, but a superpowered kid? BAD idea. The kid went way further than he must have planned, hitting one of the trees before he fell to the ground in an ungraceful heap.   
  
"Son of a bitch," Tony murmured under his breath and rushed up to help Peter up, glad that the play area was isolated save for an elderly man sitting by the benches, feeding his dog without a care for anything else. Tony grabbed Peter's shoulders, trying to check for broken bones or injuries, worry coursing through him. "You're alright, kid. You're alright, right? Are you alright?"  
  
Peter took Tony's hand and his surprised expression turned into a grin, laughing so hard he could hardly stand straight. "That was so cool! I was flying for a few seconds!"   
  
Tony blinked, before giving him an _are you kidding me_ look. The concern melted away in a blink of an eye. "You slammed into a tree," he said, shaking his head and chuckling. "Come on, let's go grab an ice cream before heading home. You're a mess. I think we passed one on the way here."  
  
"Sounds great!" Peter said, picking the leaves off of his shirt and trying to get the dirt off of him as he jogged after Tony like an overgrown puppy. Tony slung an arm around him as they walked to the car. Peter immediately took over the music department, playing some song that Tony didn't understand before Tony could play what Peter called "Old Man Rock". The song was almost _all_ beat and hardly had any words.   
  
Tony rolled his eyes and put on his glasses, speeding out of the park. "So, Peter," Tony began, keeping the mood light. "What do you think of the other Avengers? They good to you?"  
  
Peter nodded, his face serious and blank as he said, "Mr. America is nice to me."   
  
"Mr. Ameri-" Tony started to cackle, throwing his head back before he remembered that he was behind the wheel. "Oh my god, that's golden," he breathed between peals of laughter, Peter laughing beside him, "Peter, that's brilliant, I love it. I need to- I need to see his face when you call him that. I love it. If I don't hear that in my lifetime, what's the point?"  
  
Peter wiped a hand over his eyes, beaming. "But seriously, they're all pretty nice to me. I like Mr. Barnes. He's pretty funny in that sulky emo teenager way. He reminds me of MJ. And I like Dr. Banner and Loki."  
  
"Loki?" Tony repeated, giving him a look and flicking on autopilot for the car. "What happened to _Mr_ Loki?"  
  
"Well, he says that as a god, there's no need for a prefix because he's not a mortal man and doesn't really see the point of it. He says that on Asgard, he was called Prince Loki and Thor was Prince Thor, but now he prefers to be called Loki by friends. We're friends now," Peter explained, smiling. "He explained seidr to me and gave me a book to help me understand the culture of the different realms. I'm pretty sure he's a prince of Jotunheim too, and possibly Vanaheim through his mother."  
  
Tony leaned back, drumming his fingers on his thigh. "Right."  
  
"Are you two friends?"  
  
 _Enough for him to ask me to go to Sakaar with him so he could join his boyfriend and possibly find my own boyfriend among the other broken people, sure_. "I'd think so, yeah. He's Loki though, of course he's my friend."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Peter's eyes were open and naive when Tony met them, making all the words on Tony's tongue implying that Loki would "befriend" (major air quotes there) anyone willing to listen to him and pay attention to him disappear. The fact that Tony was rich, lonely, and as broken as him was a plus. "I mean he and I are very similar and that would make him more likely to be my friend. Oh look, we're here." Tony exited the car, waiting for Peter so they could walk into the ice cream shop together.   
  
There was something wrong. Tony felt it immediately, but everything was still intact and in place, the place spotless and counters shining. No clues there. If Tony ignored the way his stomach plummeted when he walked in, he could even imagine it was a normal ice cream shop. The person behind the counter had a blank look on their face, looking out the window without even looking at them, unmoving. Tony's instincts went into overdrive and he met Peter's eyes meaningfully, frowning.   
  
Something wasn't right.  
  
"Mr. Stark-" Peter whispered, staring straight ahead; Tony followed his gaze and froze. He hadn't noticed the droplets of blood on the floor before but now that he did, he saw it all over the kitchen floor leading up to the cashier, whose apron had flecks of blood splattered across it as well.   
  
"I did what was right," the boy said, voice raw, still staring out of the window with hollow eyes. "At night he takes someone into the apartment upstairs and I just hear them scream. Every time he does it's someone new, a different person's life is ruined because of that monster."  
  
Peter's face had gone pale, his hands balling into fists as he stared at the gun that the cashier placed on the counter before he stepped back from it. Tony placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him steady. It didn't help that the boy across the counter was hardly more than a _kid_ , probably a couple years older than Peter if not the same age.   
  
"So you decided to take matters into your own hands?" Tony asked, keeping his voice objective, detached, professional even as his insides screamed that this boy was too _young_ to have blood on his hands.  
  
The boy's eyes met his. "I'd rather have my own life ruined than have him ruin someone else's. Have you ever lost someone, sir? Have you had someone torn from you?'  
  
"December 16th, 1991," Tony responded, putting his hands in his hoodie pockets, ready to activate his watch at a second's warning. "Both of my parents were killed."  
  
"So you know sorrow… I'm sorry for your loss," the boy said, "what would you do to bring them back?"  
  
Peter's eyes filled with water, threateningly close to spilling. "Anything," he said, speaking for the first time since they stepped in, voice rough. The boy's eyes flicked over to look him over. "I'd do anything."  
  
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. They hadn't talked about May's death in a while and it was usually in a calm, open environment, not like this. Peter had gotten over May's death slowly and only after many nights spent curled up in bed crying with Tony sitting outside his door or holding him against his chest. They'd worked their asses off to get where they were now.   
  
"My name is Francis Palla by the way," Francis said, introducing himself. "My mom's name is Sofia."  
  
Tony and Peter didn't speak, Francis' eyes glossy.   
  
"My boss… his name is Alexander. He gambles a lot. That's why he takes people. He'd sell them to other disgusting pigs like him, and I only found out a few days ago. I tried to call the cops, but-" he let out a sigh, shaking his head. "He knew that I knew. So he threatened me. Yelled at me."  
  
Francis threaded his bony fingers through his hair. "Said that if I didn't keep my mouth shut, he'd kill my mom. My mom's all I have," he whispered, looking down at his hands and picking the dried blood off of them. "So I stayed quiet for a few days. But he- but he-"  
  
"He didn't keep up his end of the bargain," Tony finished softly, watching the kid's face crumble, tears spilling out of his eyes silently.   
  
"I wasn't going to kill him," Francis said, eyes bloodshot, boring into Tony's. "I didn't plan on doing that until he fired the gun at my mother and even then, I wasn't going to kill him. But then he- he- he started to take off his- and I couldn't- I panicked- I was scared and _nobody was there_. I had nothing more to lose so I- I just-" he trembled, burying his head in his hands as he dissolved into heartbreaking sobs, looking more like 3 than 19.   
  
Tony met Peter's eyes and knew that Peter was waiting for him to come to a decision. "Call 911, Peter-"  
  
"Mr. Stark-"  
  
"It's okay, I'm not going to put up a fight. Let justice be served for me as it was for him."  
  
"-and tell them that there's a victim of an attack that is in need of medical care and psychological evaluation, suicidal tendencies shown after trauma. Two dead bodies, only one survivor of a violent attack by a human trafficker," Tony said, raising his glasses and walking over with his hands up. "Can I-" he gestured to the CCTV monitor and Francis only nodded, moving back.   
  
Tony flicked through the footage, nodding when he saw that they'd had the confrontation in the line of sight of the CCTV cameras. "You're in the safe, kid. Your mom and the bastard's in there?"  
  
Francis nodded. "And another dead body, but I don't know who it is."  
  
"Three dead bodies!" Tony shouted to Peter, who was already on the phone with 911. He turned back to the kid, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be okay now, Francis. I've got the best lawyers in the country, we can help you."  
  
Francis' eyes, hollow, bore into his own. "Why?" he asked, as if he couldn't comprehend why someone would want to help him.  
  
"I want to help you," Tony answered easily. "I wish I was there to help you when you were in need, Francis. I wish someone was there to help you. You were a victim who needed to be saved but wasn't, so you had to do what needed to be done to survive."  
  
Francis was silent for a few moments, tears spilling down his face. "Sometimes, some people don't deserve to be saved."  
  
\--  
  
Tony walked into the compound with an exhausted sigh, Peter trailing behind him silently. Francis would walk free. Tony would make sure of it. There was no way that he'd be blamed for being a victim of some sick asshole. Just thinking about what that monster did made Tony's blood boil.   
  
"You alright, Pete?" Tony asked gently, not saying a word when Peter turned and wrapped his arms around him. Tony couldn't deny the comfort that such a simple gesture brought for the both of them.   
  
Peter shuddered in his grasp. "He's a kid. He shouldn't have to go through that. Why wasn't someone there for him?"  
  
Tony carded his fingers through Peter's hair, holding him close. "I don't know, kiddo. A kid shouldn't have that on their plate, but it is what it is. Right now all we can do is hope. I'm going to make sure my lawyers don't let him go to prison. Don't worry, I'll take care of it."   
  
Peter shook his head, his head still against Tony's chest. "I know you'll take care of it. I just wish someone was there for him like someone was there for me. It's depressing that nobody was. Aunt May used to tell me that even a smile could save someone's life and Francis didn't even have that."  
  
 _Oh_. Tony's chest bloomed at the words, the compassion and agape that laced the words reminding Tony of why he'd taken the kid in. The kid had a heart of gold that he wore on his sleeve and he needed to be taught how to protect it and use it wisely.    
  
The door clicked open, Thor walking into the room. "Friends, you have returned!" he paused when he saw Peter's bloodshot eyes and Tony's tired face. "Was the zoo closed today? What is the matter? Your son looks sad."  
  
"Long story short,  it was open, there was a justified homicide in an ice cream shop, Peter's currently mopey because his heart is too soft for the world," Tony responded, ignoring the light punch to his chest as Peter pulled away and pulled out a cookie from the cupboard.  
  
"Didn't even get ice cream," Peter murmured, sitting down on the counter like a toddler, legs swinging. Tony smirked.   
  
If he was relieved that this didn't set Peter back in his recovery from grief, then sue him. He was over-the-fucking-moon-relieved.   
  
Thor took that in, opening the fridge and grabbing a drink. "How unfortunate and unsanitary. Ice cream should never be near a murder. Bruce told me about germs and how they spread- I find it repulsive."  
  
Tony shared a look with Peter and they both smiled at Thor's rambling. "I think I'm going to go to bed, big guy. See you," Tony patted Thor's bicep, passing him. "Peter, bed. You've been up all day. If _I_ am tired, you are too. Finish up here and go to bed."   
  
"Sure thing, sir!" Peter called after him, legs still swinging as he finished up eating the cookies. Tony took that as an acceptable response and retired to his own room, exhausted. He was asleep before he even hit the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Tuesday. This story got way longer than I expected so it'll probably be like 10 chapters. Sorry for the angst but it's me. You should know all I live for is angst at this point. I am an Angst Whore. 
> 
> Let's be real, I had no idea how many people would like this story so thank you all so much for your comments and support! I mean... Me?? A trashbag prince??? Wow. I accept your completely unfounded support of me. That sweet sweet validation. Thank you all for filling the void my dad made lmao XD
> 
> Any fic requests are being taken until June 25th.


	6. Is A Heartbreak Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road is wild  
> We're holding on for life  
> Like a child  
> Who's not afraid to cry  
> We're escaping to a place they'll never know  
> Just you and me, love  
> We are almost home  
> -Almost Home
> 
> Winter brings only coldness and sorrow for Tony and Bucky.
> 
> Sometimes you have to stop before you can keep moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: anxiety attacks.

The days were becoming shorter and as winter began to creep forward Bucky's limbs slowly filled with lead and his veins began pumping resin instead of blood. He was exhausted all the time, disconnected from his friends but disconnected in so many other ways as well. His mind felt a strange mixture of both heavy and light, like his mind was filled with thoughts too heavy to bear, memories too painful to have, but at the same time he felt a lightness in him, like he wasn't truly grounded or anchored to the world and with one strong gust of wind he could be blown away into a pile of dust.  
  
But at the same time he was numb, a hollow, pulsing ache in his chest like birds pounding against his rib cage, hungering for light.   
  
His therapist called it a trauma-anniversary. Winter was a trigger for his depressive episodes, he told Bucky as if that would make him feel better about feeling it at all.   
  
Bucky didn't want to think about _why_ winter was a trigger but he knew why, his mind flashing with gray winter weeks that were like acid simmering in his mind, kept in the back of his mind like they were radioactive. They festered like maggots and wriggled under his skin, making their home in his bones, heavy and aching and so paralyzing he didn't want to think about it.   
  
His mind didn't obey him. Naturally, his mind replayed every memory- the curse of eidetic memory was never having the mercy of forgetting- down to the smallest details, leaving him with clenched teeth and fists, sleepless nights and fear that he didn't know what to do with. The fear and heartache pooled around his knees, ready to pull him down under at a moment's notice.     
  
He'd started to spend his days in his rooms more and more as the days grew colder, needing time to understand everything he was feeling. The idea that he was feeling at all was novel; for so long he had only felt what he was meant to feel, only felt the most primal of emotions like constant terror that turned into numbness as time passed and he grew to long for the death he'd once feared and relief when his mission was accomplished and he knew that there would be no pain or needles awaiting him when he returned to his holding cell.   
  
Steve was worried about him, Bucky knew, and he felt a vague prick of guilt every time he turned down his offer to hang out or spar but he couldn't explain why everything was too much.   
  
Steve kept saying things that only made Bucky's skin crawl and prick and burn.   
  
"You were a victim, Bucky."   
  
(I still killed them.)   
  
"It wasn't your fault, Buck."   
  
(They're still dead.)   
  
"You're a hero."   
  
(I will never be anything other than a monster.)   
  
And as the monochrome days crawled by, all blurred together until they were meaningless, Bucky found himself staying away from even the lab. Tony would know what to say, he would know the right words to make sure that Bucky heard him, but Bucky didn't want that. He didn't want to be comforted, didn't want to be pulled back from the abyss of his mind, didn't deserve to be saved from the torment his mind had in store for him.   
  
For the time being, he wanted to be allowed to mourn and be bitter about everything that happened, looking back and trying to come to terms with the past rather than taking steps forward in spite of his shaky gait.   
  
So he wrote. He wrote about the way that he'd tried to claw his arm off when he learned it was only there to turn him into a weapon, not to help him deal with the loss of an arm. He wrote about thrashing on a table in spite of his best attempts to keep still to keep from adding to the pain because there came a time when the mind was overpowered by primal instinct and impulse to survive.   
  
That time was when the mind and body knew it was on the verge of death.   
  
Sometimes he dared to dream of death, begged for it, craved it like a man dying of thirst craved water.   
  
He wrote and wrote and as the days passed by, he allowed himself to feel another emotion, one so foreign and one he had no idea even existed. When he realized the name for it, he froze, heart in his throat, eyes darting around like someone might come to tell him off for a feeling that was inside of him.   
  
Anger.   
  
The guilt, pain, and resigned fear swirled and swirled until it became so diluted that Bucky could almost believe that it was a different emotion altogether; instead of looking at the contents of the bottle and burning himself, he slapped on the hastily scribbled label of 'resentment' onto it. He was angry, and everything hurt, and he didn't quite understand why he was angry or who he was angry at but he was angry.   
  
He had the right to be angry now- he had earned it. For so long, he'd been in a hostile environment where he wondered if he would survive until the next night, and for so long he had not had the right to feel anything but what he was told to feel. He was a machine to be used and broken and put back together as his handlers saw fit. Anger was a line of code left out; he had the desperation to appease, the determination to survive, the drive to keep going only because it was the only thing he knew how to do.   
  
He had the right to be angry about the way he never had a choice, never had a voice, never had anyone to respect what he wanted. He had the right to be angry at the prying eyes, pitying voices, and false comforting words.  He had the right to be angry about the cold metal arm and the scars littered across his body and the images of muzzles and leather that burned through the front of his mind and refused to be forgotten.   
  
The captors were gone now and nobody would hurt him anymore. The coding was deactivated, the trigger words rendered useless (even if they still made his heart pound and his guts crawl), and the wounds had closed. He should be okay now, but it was so fucking _unfair_ that he was the only left with the memories of what was done to him. All that pain had burrowed deep in his bones and the only thing he was sure of anymore was that he was angry all the damn time.   
  
Anger was simpler than grief, better than tears, and easier to understand than guilt.   
  
But his therapist said his anger wasn't truly anger in its rawest form. It was anxiety. It was fear. It was hurt. It was a wall he was putting up to keep himself from getting hurt again.   
  
And he was erupting with all the desperation of a dying star.   
\--   
  
Rhodey stood outside of Tony's dead-silent lab, a tray of food in his hands as he approached the man with deliberate steps, keeping them loud enough that Tony would know he was coming. "Yo, you've gotta eat, man. I brought you some dinner. Last time you ate was yesterday. Come on."   
  
Tony blinked, snapping out of his reverie and turning his gaze to Rhodey. "Peter-"   
  
"He's still sleeping over at Ned's house, didn't call yet today. He'll be back, mother hen, relax," Rhodey responded gently, placing down the tray in front of Tony, who only stared at it blankly. He took a seat across in front of Tony, looking him over. "Talk to me, Tones. Tell me what's going on."   
  
Tony's eyes, blank, only flitted over to the window, watching the horizon as the sun slowly fell and night took over. "He should have someone better than me," Tony said, voice hoarse and quiet, "I'm not good enough to raise the kid. He can't find out how much of a mess I am."   
  
He'd been acting stable in front of Peter, trying to set a good example for the sensitive kid who could go far in life if he had the proper guidance. In spite of the heavy dark clouds that filled his mind with colorless thoughts, he'd been keeping his act together for the kid. And in a way, Peter helped. Having someone look at him with complete adoration and trust had a way of bringing up someone's self-esteem, even though he knew that Peter wasn't blind to the way he'd been more and more "tired" as fall transitioned into winter.   
  
Peter knew what was going on, and bless him, he kept being his normal bubbly self.   
  
"Yeah well, you're all he's got and you're all he wants." Rhodey watched with relief as Tony took the loaf of bread and nibbled on the edges of it. If he was going to be honest, he was scared for Tony. The last time he'd seen Tony get this bad was back in MIT after Howard and Maria died, leaving the teenager an orphan with nobody to turn to for his grief. He'd boarded himself up in his room for days at a time, hardly caring about his grades anymore, staring blankly at a wall as he slipped from the face of the earth without an anchor to keep him from going off the edge.   
  
Rhodey still didn't know how Tony had managed to get through it, but Rhodey did know that he'd spent countless nights beside Tony with a bowl of soup and bread and whatever drink he'd managed to buy with Tony like a limp doll leaning against him for all the strength and warmth he could offer. When Tony, fifteen, finally allowed himself to crash into Rhodey's arms and cry for the first time in months, Rhodey could only burrow his feet into the ground, knowing that at that moment it was his feet holding the two of them up.   
  
Tony looked hollow. In spite of the serum in his veins that kept him in peak condition and let him go on for days longer than ordinary people, his eyes gave away the pain he felt that couldn't be alleviated by sleeping or tinkering. "It's winter," Tony murmured, letting Rhodey run his fingers through his hair who didn't care about the way it was unkempt and unbrushed. "I just… keep remembering. And I'm tired all the time."   
  
Rhodey knew what he meant. Winter was often when Tony began to spiral downwards. There were so many things that happened during winter, and Rhodey had to admit, it was easier to hole yourself up in your room when it was winter because nobody would question it.   
  
Rhodey knew better than to let Tony slip through his fingers though because he'd seen the lengths that Tony would go to in order to find an escape from his misery. Finding him in the tub surrounded by his own vomit and blood had been something that Rhodey could never forget. He could never forget the way his heart fell to his feet at the idea that his best friend since youth was dead. And that Tony had died alone with the idea that he was unloved and irredeemable, weary enough of his life that the only way out he saw was with a bottle of pills.   
  
["Tones? Shit, come on, nonononono, don't you dare," he'd whispered, afraid that speaking louder would cause something to shatter in the deathly-still compound. "You're not going to do this, don't you dare die on me, Tony!"]   
  
"Talk to me about what's going through your mind," Rhodey offered, watching Tony slowly work his way through the meal.   
  
And Tony's eyes, mournful, broken, met his own, giving him a tight smile. "I'm just so _tired_ , Honeybear. I wish I could sleep forever, but I can't because- Well, because I just can't. You already know why I can't, won't bore you with that story again. But I want to just take a break from everything, y'know? Drive off into the sun, get a happy ending, something like that."   
  
"You considering Loki's offer?" Rhodey asked, making sure to keep his voice even.   
  
Tony was such a soft and misplaced thing that hardly anyone knew how to touch him without breaking him and even fewer knew how to take care of him. But Rhodey, more than most others, prided himself on his ability to know when to keep his voice soft and his eyes warm and when to keep his voice firm and unyielding.   
  
"Thinking about going to Sakaar with him?"   
  
Tony shrugged, leaning back against the sofa and staring at the ceiling, eyes fixed on the bullet holes near the lights. "I'm just thinking of how great it'll be if I didn't just bounce from one problem to the next. That's what I do- I bounce. First it was dad and his drinking and his fists, then mom dying, then it was dealing with owning a company, then the Ten Rings, then Obadiah, then Vanko and Justin Hammer, then falling from a worm-hole, then Killian and the Mandarin, and then Steve and then and then and then- it never stopped. I never really took the time to stop, never wanted to stop, but now I'm running on nothing but the desperation of a drowning man and I can't keep going without crashing if I don't stop."   
  
"What are you saying, Tony?"   
  
A soft exhale as Tony closed his eyes. "What I'm saying, Rhodes, is that I just want to sleep."   
  
Silence greeted his statement, an ocean of unsaid words between them that neither of them were quite ready to traverse, too afraid to try for fear of drowning in them.     
  
\--   
"Is everyone in place?" Fury asked, looking over the team of Avengers sitting in their seats, waiting for the interviewers to file in so they could re-introduce the Avengers to the world and let them know that they were a team again. Steve, Tony, Thor, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Bucky, Sam, Loki, Rhodey, Vision, Wanda, and Scott had all been urged to attend for the sake of presenting a united front. Peter, though not an official Avenger yet, had been placed by Tony's side, clothed in a dapper suit Tony had helped him pick.     
  
Fury eyed them all before he turned to Tony, who had on his trademark glasses and confident playboy businessman persona surrounding him. "Stark, you're going to have to take the lead when questions start. Use your charm to get the people to trust you and the rest of the Avengers. Sell it. Make sure everyone's comforted that their friendly team of heroes is now united and ready to save them, etc. etc. Phil will introduce you, after that it's on you to carry the show."   
  
Tony nodded, adjusting his tie a bit. "I'm ready."   
  
With that, the doors to the Hall opened and people filed in, already flashing pictures of the Avengers seated at the long table at the front of the room. Around 20 minutes passed with them finding their seats and situating themselves as Agent Coulson introduced each of the Avengers and did a speech on the unity and newfound understanding between the Avengers, talking about how the heroes were all bound by the single goal of protecting humanity and were willing to cooperate to achieve this goal. Tony could see Peter fidgeting in his peripheral, awkward and uneasy in front of so many people taking pictures. Maybe one day the kid could learn some tricks about presenting and doing speeches.   
  
"And Tony Stark is currently the leader of the team for the time being-" Phil mentioned, the dead silence of the Hall shattered by an eruption of chatter, people voicing their surprise, confusion, and approval with the choice. "Well, I suppose I'll let him take it from here. Everybody, Tony Stark!"   
  
People clapped and cheered politely, waiting as Tony stood and approached the podium. He raised his hands, the crowd falling into silence. "Agent Coulson's statement is true, I am currently the leader of the Avengers, though how long that'll last is anyone's guess."   
  
A woman in a tight dress raised her hand. "How many people are now part of the Avengers Initiative?"   
  
Tony adjusted his mic. "Everyone sitting at this table is an Avenger or is on their way to becoming an Avenger. Officially, there are 13 of us right now, which makes it a lot easier to balance responsibilities compared to when there were 6 of us trying to take on every threat. It's a lot easier to be able to share the work with each other without anyone being pushed to their limits for the sake of protecting civilians without a break or rest."   
  
"You say there are 13 of you but there's 14 of you at the table. Who there is currently not an official Avenger, if any?"   
  
Tony pointed to Peter. "He will become an official Avenger at the age of 21, which is the minimum age for registration. As for the moment, Peter is undergoing training for the day he becomes an Avenger."   
  
Another woman raised her hand and Peter breathed a sigh of relief at the change of topic. "Is the Winter Soldier still a threat to the general public or have actions been taken to prevent another episode like what happened in Germany not even a year ago?"   
  
"The Winter Soldier no longer exists," Tony responded, and a hundred cynical and confused eyes darted to look over at Bucky, who met their gazes without flinching only by sheer will, feeling nauseous as they stared at him like a zoo animal. "The Winter Soldier is a weapon that was created by HYDRA but it has been shut down and will no longer hurt anyone. Turned off like a piece of malfunctioning tech. Easy peasy. The _man_  sitting behind me though is James Buchanan Barnes who as we all know- because we were all forced to learn about it- is a war hero. He's a soldier from World War 2, the best friend of Captain America, and he spent 70 years being tortured and broken and yet- big yet right here folks- he's here today willing to fight to protect us again in spite of everything he's been through. If that's not a hero, I don't know what is. Braver, kinder, and better than most would expect of someone who's been through so much- ask anyone at this table, they'll vouch for him. Hell, he's probably more of a hero than I'll ever be."   
  
A few chuckles broke out, and Bucky raised a hand, waving at the reporters as they flashed their cameras, a swarm of sharks wearing suits ironed into perfection. As he stared at Tony's back, he tried to understand what Tony was trying to get at, saying things like that. Before Bucky knew it, Steve's hand was on his leg, reminding him to breathe without words needing to be said. He met his eyes, giving him a nod that he hoped was assuring. "He means it," Bucky breathed, still facing ahead.   
  
Steve nodded, almost imperceptibly. "He does." The answer didn't bring Bucky as much comfort as it should have, making his stomach fill with lead instead.  It was a lie though, a lie that made Bucky's body feel like hot-red pins were being stuck into every pore, being pushed past muscle and right into bone. Within seconds the sadness and confusion turned into a vortex of anger swirling around in his stomach. If he stopped to think about it, he knew that his therapist would tell him the anger was a defense mechanism and use a lot of fancy words that all seemed to mean one thing: he was broken.   
  
He didn't stop to think about it, choosing instead to fan the anger into a flame to keep himself from dissolving into a puddle of denial, regret, and shame. The Winter Soldier didn't feel regret or shame, after all. All the Winter Soldier knew was rage and a hunger for blood.     
  
"Next question, you sir, in the back," Tony said, pointing to someone.   
  
"And what about Loki, Mr. Stark? What do you have to say about him? Surely he's the one behind you?"   
  
Tony laughed the comment off, nodding. "Loki is indeed the one behind me. You want me to tell you how I know he's on our side now? He's gone through the same treatment as Sergeant Barnes and has been freed from the mind control he was under. If you can see from there, his eyes are now green, unlike the stark blue they were when he was here thirsting for death while under mind control. If that's not enough to convince you, Loki has been on 5 different missions which ended in hundreds of innocent lives being saved. If we can forgive Sergeant Barnes, I think we should also grant Loki a second chance. We've talked about this before though, I think you can just watch the interviews of him being introduced as an Avenger for the first time for more details."   
  
Tony didn't look behind him as he spoke, not seeing the way that Loki's eyes dropped, melancholia gripping him.   
  
"Time is all we're asking for, people. Not just for Loki but for the entire team as well. We're back together now and we know that we have to earn your trust again but we are here to make sure that people will be safe. With new regulations and safeguards in place, we will also make sure you'll be safe from us as well. With the Accords, we have more checks and balances to ensure that what we do will always be in the best interest of the innocent people. People of any gender, race, religion, age, origin, and sexuality- all of you will be safe. I don't give empty promises as you all know, but I give you my word I will protect you even if I have to give my life to do it."   
  
Murmurs broke out among the group of reporters. Someone raised their hand, and Tony gestured for her to speak. "That's one of the problems, Tony. We trust _you_ , we know your heart is with us- at least, I do and most of the people I know. You are not the problem here, it's the people sitting behind you. After the Civil War, how can you sit there and vouch for the same people who hurt you? For the team who betrayed you and stood against 117 countries?" the lady asked, and Tony reminded himself to breathe.   
  
Steve shifted in his chair, sharing a sad look with Bucky, fists clenching underneath the table where nobody could see them.   
  
"That's very touching, though I disagree about the Avengers- protectors of the earth- being problems," Tony said, rubbing his goatee absently. "These people? I trust them to have my back and before anything else, they're my teammates and in battle I know I can depend on them, personal differences aside. I vouch for them because I know their strengths and I know that I need them. I can't do it all alone- and that's something I'm only going to say once so this better make headlines."   
  
Laughter echoed through the hall and Tony flashed them all a winning smile. Peter could see how Tony seemed to know what he was doing, more than half of the reporters already seemed content with the answers they received so far. If that were him giving a speech, they'd probably all be starting a petition to shut the Avengers down for the sake of humanity.   
  
"But on a more serious note, I know they're going to have to earn your trust back. I know that I do as well. All I ask for is for you to give us that chance to prove ourselves. Any other questions? I think we're running short of time but we can do a few more."   
  
"Who is Peter? If he is too young to be an Avenger then why is he here among the Avengers? Isn't that dangerous?"   
  
Tony grinned, "I couldn't find a babysitter for the day. World, meet Peter Parker, my adopted son. No questions aimed at him, no pap, no harassing, alright? I've been told I'm a bit protective. Consider this your first and final warning."   
  
Uproar met his statement, cameras flashing like lights flickering on and off. Peter blinked away the bout of blindness caused by the intense lights. He gave them all a smile, trying to ignore the way that some of the people wouldn't stop staring at him like they were hungry and he was carrying fresh snacks.   
  
"And how have you and the captain gotten on after he tried to kill you in Siberia? Are you two together again?"   
  
Tony only laughed, shrugging and putting his hands in his pockets. "I have a policy of forgiving an attempt on my life so long as it doesn't happen again and the person who tried to kill me can make _a killer coffee_ . I'm the amazing bigger person that way. I'm very forgiving, delightful, and humble like that. Do you know how often you can pull the 'you tried to kill me' card to get someone to do something? It's amazing. I never have to worry about my laundry again."   
  
The entire hall erupted into laughter and Tony clapped his hands together. "Alright, that's all, folks! It was nice to see you tonight, there's a gift bag for everyone underneath your seats. Thank you and goodnight!" And with that, he raised his hand in a peace sign, people cheering and clapping as the Avengers stood behind him and posed for a picture. Music began playing as the doors opened, some people beginning to file out, leaving only a few people who wanted pictures with the group of heroes.   
  
When Tony stepped out, Phil was already beside him. "That was good. You did really well, most of them left with smiles on their faces. I think it worked."   
  
"Course it did, Agent. It's me."   
  
Peter was beaming when Tony approached him and threw an arm over his shoulder. "That was amazing, Mr. Stark! You totally got all of them to trust you! And you told them I'm your son!"   
  
"That I did, kid. You told me it was okay, so I just thought, y'know, what the hell. It was easier than explaining your condition of sticking to walls anyway, so your identity is still technically safe. We good?"   
  
"Of course! Now I can rub it in Flash's face that I really do know you," Peter said, grinning as Tony pulled him into the bus that Fury had demanded the Avengers use as transport. It was a bit weird considering they could have used a jet or something faster, but Fury was not to be trifled with and they all ended up on the bus anyway. They all got in, Phil did a head count, and then they were off for a drive that lasted hours. Peter sat in the back, falling asleep quickly with his coat thrown over his face like a sleeping mask and Tony decided to do some reading while they drove home.   
  
"Tony," Bucky greeted, giving him a nod and sitting across from him, hair tied back in a bun.   
  
Tony looked up from his book, crossing his legs before he turned back to the page he was reading. "Sergeant," he drawled lazily.   
  
"You defended me. Back there." The way he said it implied there was more to that than a question, but Tony only shrugged absently, focused on the story he was reading.   
  
"Yeah, of course I did. Unity, cooperation, all that sappy bullshit, remember?"   
  
Bucky shook his head, eyes boring into Tony's. "No," he said firmly, and Tony looked up to see his eyes ablaze with emotion. "You _meant_ it. You meant what you said. About me. About me being a hero."   
  
Tony frowned, closing his book and trying to understand what this was all about. "Yeah? I mean, what do you want me to say? Am I supposed to apologize for thinking you're a hero or something? Of course you're a hero, everyone knows that. We learned about you in school, man. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, member of the Howling Commandos. War veteran, WW2 soldier, the brave hero who lost his life."   
  
"You said," Bucky began, "that I was more of a hero than you ever will be. Why?"   
  
Desperation. Tony realized it was the emotion fueling Bucky's question. The desperation to understand why Tony would think such a thing. Talk about self-loathing issues. Heh, and of all people, he thought to go to Tony Stark, winner of the self-loathing contest?   
  
"It's true, Bucky. You're a hero and more of one than I could ever be. I've hurt too many people."   
  
"I was an _assassin_ . I've killed people in cold blood. I didn't even know half of who I killed. I just did it because it was my _mission_ . Parents, children, men, women? Didn't matter to me, I killed them. I fucking killed them. How can you possibly even _think_ I'm a hero? That I'm more of one than you? Explain that to me, will you?"   
  
Tony's eyes flashed with pain for a moment before clearing. "The people I hurt are usually the ones I love. I try and I try to keep them from getting hurt but any time that someone gets too close-" he shrugged, not finishing the sentence, a tight smile pulling on his face. "Why do you think nobody stays?"   
  
Steve approached, seeing the tension between Tony and Bucky. The silence of the entire bus was suffocating like tar dribbling down Tony's throat, slowly cutting off the air from reaching his lungs.   
  
"Buck," Steve cautioned, pressing a hand onto Bucky's shoulder that Bucky only shrugged off without blinking an eye, leaning forward uncomfortably close to Tony.   
  
"Say it," Bucky said, left hand clenched so tight it would be bleeding if it wasn't metal. He ignored Steve, ignored the silence that could only mean everyone else was listening to what they were saying, ignoring everything except for Tony sitting in front of him. Tony decided not to focus on the glint of metal on the arm that reminded him of a different time, a different place he didn't want to return to at all. "Say that you fucking lied. Say that it's not true. Admit that you're a fucking _liar_ , Tony. You're trying to sweet-talk me and everyone else, you're trying to act like what you're saying is true when you know it isn't."   
  
"It _is_  true," Tony insisted, eyes devoid of any emotion as his muscles tensed in anticipation of a blow.   
  
Bucky growled, slapping his palm down on the armrest, the noise like thunder. "Stop fucking mocking me!"   
  
"I'm not. Much to everyone's surprise, I'm actually capable of being truthful and possessing basic human empathy," Tony responded, fiddling with his watch just in case if he had to fight. "You're having an anxiety attack, I get it, but I shouldn't really be the one to deal with your inferiority complex right now- I'm not equipped for it, honestly. You're taking your trauma to someone drowning in trauma."   
  
(He knew nobody would step in to stop him from getting hurt, just like nobody had stepped in before.)   
  
It would be okay, he reassured himself, he could handle it without breaking anything now. One of the perks of Extremis was that he could finally keep up with the super-soldiers, but somehow that wasn't as comforting as Tony wished it would be. Not when the reason for it was that he'd been driven by fear while making the Extremis formula.   
  
Fear of Bucky and Steve.   
  
Bucky shook his head, gritting his teeth and leaning forward. "You're insane. I'm a weapon. I killed your parents. Watched them die with my hands covered in their blood."   
  
Tony's stomach dropped, his mouth going dry. "I don't want to talk about that."   
  
"Guys-" Steve interrupted, still being ignored by both men. "Maybe we should stop this right here before it escalates even further? You're both wound up tight. Bucky, Tony, please."   
  
Bucky knew he should stop but he _couldn't_ , trapped inside of a barrel as he tumbled down the hill, about to collide with a lamp post but unable to do anything about it. There was no stopping it, no keeping it from crashing, no controlling it. He couldn't stop, the pulsing in the back of his head screaming at him to stop but his mind and his mouth wouldn't work together. Of all things, he was afraid. The feeling was familiar. "Why? It's true. I watched them die and all I felt was _relief_ at a mission accomplished. Say that I'm a monster, just fucking say it. _Please_ ."   
  
Tony let out a mirthless laugh, his eyes filling with tears which he blinked away quickly. "Either way, Captain America sure seemed to believe in you, Barnes. He chose you over me, for god's sake. That has to count for something. Most of the team sided with you two when everything went to shit so obviously, we know where _they_ stand on the issue. They think there's something in you worth saving, something in you that's _good_ ."   
  
A few seats away, Clint groaned a soft "son of a bitch". The sound of footsteps and creaking seats filled the silence but Tony's mind was spinning too fast to really register it. His entire body was cold, freezing, as if his brain just up and decided to turn off the body temperature regulation function. He was so cold his hands were shaking. So cold he couldn't breathe. So cold, so cold, so cold he felt like he was back in Siberia. Sweat dripped down his back, making his clothes stick to him like the shield had stuck out in his chest when- after Steve had- and then Bucky had-   
  
_Stopstopstopstopstop_ .   
  
"And what about you?"   
  
"Me?" Tony parroted, blinking as he pressed a hand against his chest, trying to remind himself he was still breathing. He was okay, even if his flammable heart refused to believe it. "I think there's hope for you too."   
  
Bucky shook his head. "No," he ground out, eyes adamant, but tone less acerbic. Defeat and exhaustion laced his words. "what about _you_ ? Do you think there's something in you worth saving?"   
  
"If there was, I think someone would have come back for me in fucking Siberia." Tony's eyes dropped down to his chest, his mind flashing him images of blood and metal. He closed his eyes. "I'm poison. Everyone I love ends up leaving or dead. I burn everything I come into contact with."   
  
The silence that followed his words was deafening, like the quiet that followed a crack of thunder, like the stillness after a gunshot.   
  
Tony shut his eyes, pressing his nails into his palms, the pain keeping him from slipping further still into his panic-addled mind.   
  
Bucky was close to crying, the moisture in his eyes reflecting the light overhead, his chest rising and falling sporadically. He could only keep shaking his head, staring down at his hands and still seeing the blood that he couldn't wash out completely because lifeless eyes followed him into his dreams. "The Winter Soldier isn't gone," Bucky whispered, his anger turning into a pulsing emptiness inside of him. "He's me. Everyone tried to put me back together but I healed up all wrong."   
  
Tony let out a sharp exhale, eyes opening wide as his heart stuttered, standing suddenly. Several hands reached out to steady him as he stumbled and he flinched back from them, looking at the faces of his teammates before looking away quick enough that he didn't have to see their expressions. "Excuse me, I just have to-" he gestured vaguely towards the back of the bus that the restroom was in, watching as they hesitated before parting to make way for him.   
  
"Tony, wait!" Rhodey called after Tony, too far away to follow him as quickly as he would have liked.   
  
Stumbling, Tony made his way to the back, shouldering his way past Sam just as Sam exited the restroom. He ignored Sam's confused look, locking the door behind him and slipping downwards until he was on the floor.   
  
"Son of a bitch," he whispered as he descended into a panic attack, his mind pounding and his heart in his mouth. He closed his eyes against the bright overhead lights, dropping his head to rest against the cupboard as his body trembled violently from the cold that had seized it.   
  
He was sure of two things:   
  
One, Bucky Barnes just had a spike of his anxiety and resorted to anger to deal with it so he didn't have to face his own self-loathing issues.   
  
Tony didn't blame him, knowing how anxiety could turn to ugly things. If Tony hadn't been so terrified of turning out like Howard with his secret stash of alcohol under his bed and the blind rages that couldn't be mentioned afterward, he might have resorted to anger as well. If the fear didn't win out over anger, he knew that he might have lashed out just like Bucky did. But to be angry, one had to feel like one deserved the right to it which Tony had been trained and taught all his life he did not.   
  
And two, Tony was frayed apart at the edges and if someone pulled at one of the loose strings he would unravel and nothing but clay and blood would remain.   
  
He needed a break. He needed to breathe.   
  
Without thinking, he stood on his shaky legs, taking a few seconds to make sure he was stable enough on his feet before he walked out of the restroom. What felt like a hundred eyes snapped to train on him but he ignored them all completely, walking forward and not cowering. Sam was sitting in front of Bucky and talking in a soothing tone, a hand on his metal arm, eyes concerned for the assassin.   
  
Tony made eye contact with Bucky for a second as he passed, seeing the guilt simmering there; Tony was glad that Sam knew how to help Bucky with his issues. It was obvious he needed it. A piece of him felt inadequate for not being able to provide the help Bucky needed, but he refused to let it burrow deeper, knowing that his drive to please everyone and be useful was part of the problem right now.   
  
Tony waited for the group of Avengers standing in the middle aisle to make way for him as he made his way to Peter, who was still dozing in his chair, curled up in his chair like a kid. "Pete, wake up," he said with a light nudge on the shoulder. Peter jerked awake, looking up at Tony with groggy eyes. "Come on. We're leaving."   
  
"Leaving? Mr. Stark, I thought that-" Peter pulled on his sweater in spite of his confusion, "-we were going to ride together to the compound? Is there a mission? Are we going to fight some monsters? Should I put on my suit?"   
  
Tony shook his head, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes fixed on him as he waited for Peter to get finished gathering his things and fixing his clothes. "There's no mission, we're just going somewhere else for a while. A little vacation, you could call it."   
  
"Tony, wait," Steve interjected, a hand outstretched towards Tony, but Tony couldn't wait. Tony didn't have the energy to wait anymore, didn't have the energy to keep putting himself _last_ .   
  
"I'm leaving, Steve," he replied, facing the taller man, digging his nails against his palms again and savoring the pain. "I'm not angry with Bucky- I get what's going on. Anxiety attack that manifests in lashing out- I get it. I'm not angry, I'm just…"   
  
He sighed, gritting his teeth together. Why did things have to be so difficult?   
  
Behind Steve, he could see that most people were still looking at him, though some were helping Bucky with his bleeding hand. Tony didn't even want to know how that happened, but he had an ugly idea about what had happened. If he focused hard enough, he could faintly hear Bucky's voice as he spoke to Sam. "I'm just so angry all the time. I'm so tired of being hurt and I just want to… I'm so angry it scares me. I hate it. It's not me. It feels wrong. I hurt him, Sam, he's my friend and I-"   
  
They were just swimming in self-loathing today, weren't they?   
  
It was ironic because they were the Earth's greatest heroes and they couldn't even keep themselves from shattering like the world's most delicate glass.   
  
Steve frowned, "you're just what?"   
  
"I'm just done, Steve. I'm not ready to deal with this right now and I need a break or I swear to god I'll be the one breaking."   
  
Steve flinched. Tony refused to feel guilty for being the one to cause it.   
  
There. It was out in the open now. The great Tony Stark was a human being and he was at his wit's end dealing with everything. He had distractions back when Steve and his merry gang of rogues were still being hunted. He went to interviews and meetings and tried to fix everything they'd done. Before that, there was always a disaster that needed fixing, always something he could focus on. And now that they were all back together, the only disaster left to be fixed was the one inside of him.   
  
So he needed space and time to begin working his way through all the trauma and to actually find himself.   
  
Clint and Natasha shared a look with one another, Bruce only nodded in understanding, and Loki's eyes, behind everyone else, were soft and calculating as if his mind was spinning at a hundred miles per second. Thor watched pensively, sad yet not so socially oblivious he would stand in Tony's way. Steve's eyes, in contrast to what Tony had expected, were resigned and filled with sadness that made Tony's heart break a little bit more.   
  
It felt wrong to put himself first, like he was going against his coding, but he knew that if he didn't leave now he'd never have the courage to go.   
  
Warmth spread through his skin and it took him a moment to realize it was Peter's hand in his, hesitant and reluctant but there nonetheless. "I'm ready, Mr. Stark," Peter said, voice close to a whisper, looking at Tony and then at the rest of the Avengers. "Let's go."   
  
They walked towards the front of the bus, Peter carrying his bag and Tony carrying his own backpack that he'd gotten used to having after Peter came into his life. "Stop the bus!" Tony called, sparing his friends a final look as the bus slowed to a stop.   
  
Steve stepped forward, handing Tony a small piece of tech that made his lips twitch. "When you're ready, Tony," Steve said, giving Tony a nod to continue what the sentence he didn't finish.   
  
Tony understood without it needing to be said. "I know." He looked around at the group before he spotted Rhodey. "Rhodey, take care of 'em while I'm gone, will you?"   
  
"Sure thing, Tones."   
  
Tony gave him his winning smile, even though it was filled with weariness and sadness. "Don't blame Buck for this, alright? Get him help."   
  
"I don't deserve it," were the soft words from Bucky, who stared down at his bleeding palm with hollow eyes.   
  
Rhodey gave Tony an assuring nod, just as weary, but determined. "Take care of yourself. I'll check up on you two later."   
  
With that, Tony stepped out of the bus, still holding Peter's hand in his, watching as the bus drove away and left them on the side of a street. "Um, Mr. Stark? Not that I'm questioning you, but how are we going anywhere and why did we leave and are we going home?"   
  
"I'm going to call Happy, we left because I need a break and we are not going back to the compound. We're going to a different home for now. My Malibu Mansion, just you and me, a tiny break from the hubbub of life here," Tony said, already pulling out his phone to send a text to Happy. All he got was a curt 'on my way. 5 mins' from the guy.   
  
"Wasn't that mansion bombed when you took on the Mandarin?"   
  
Tony put his phone away, raising an eyebrow. "I had it rebuilt. Also, weren't you like 2 when that happened?"   
  
Peter scowled, which held all the bite of a puppy growling. "I was 11."   
  
"11? I thought you were 10," Tony teased gently, making Peter's scowl deepen further.   
  
Tony chuckled, stretching his left hand to get the tension out of it. "You're too easy to tease, kid, relax! You look about 12, give or take."   
  
"Mr. Staaaaaark!"   
  
"Alright, alright, 13. 14?"   
  
"I'm 15!" Peter said, pouting.   
  
"Sure?"   
  
"Of course I'm sure, it's my age!"   
  
Tony laughed, ruffling Peter's hair, the tightness in his chest loosening up now that he was free and had no obligations tying him down. The weight of the StarkPhone that Steve had handed him was heavy in his pocket, a solid weight to remind him that Steve was not as far as he had been before.   
  
In a way, that filled him with hope that there would be a light at the end of the tunnel and not a train like it had always been before.   
  
Peter sat down on a boulder, resting his chin on his hand. "I thought you were supposed to be the leader of the Avengers? Isn't it in the contract that you're supposed to be the one watching over them?"   
  
Tony nodded. "Technically I am the team leader, but Rhodey is my co-leader and therefore I am legally allowed a break so long as he's there to take up my responsibilities."   
  
Peter took that in with a nod, staring up at the blue sky above them, feet planted on the soft dirt road. The weather was nice today, the wind pleasant rather than biting, the sun peeking out from behind the white clouds like a doting mother might peel away the curtains to check up on her wayward children. "Mr. Stark?" The voice- curious but not judgmental, open in the only way a child's could be, like he would accept any answer to the question on his tongue without complaint- brought Tony out of his thoughts.   
  
"Yes, Peter?" Tony responded, sitting down on the ground without a single care for the dirt getting on his clothes.   
  
"Why did we leave?"   
  
With a sigh, Tony leaned back, pressing his back against the boulder and looking up at Peter. "Because sometimes even when you love someone you have to take a step back so you can both breathe. Sometimes, in order to keep moving forward, you have to figure out which way you're facing and which way you wanna go. And love… as much as most people want to believe otherwise, it doesn't fix everything. It doesn't cure pain or change reality. Sometimes all it does it make someone care."   
  
And caring hurt most of all.   
  
"Do you still love Steve?" Peter asked, poking his shoe into the ground and watching the dirt break apart.   
  
Tony sighed, the answer coming to the forefront of his mind without any hesitation or thought. "I do." And he meant it. He did love Steve, would always love Steve with a love that stained his fingers and lips like pomegranate, needy and ruinous and wine-dark, consuming like a midnight sky on a starless night against a weak and trembling moon trying not to be swallowed whole.   
  
"Does he still love you?"   
  
Like the rain loved the ground. Like the waves loved the shore enough to keep coming back to it endlessly, breaking itself with its ravenous yearning in the process time and time again. Tony knew this. Yet the love that Steve held for Bucky was deeper than the ocean and as vast as space, like two lonely atoms at the beginning of time gravitating towards one another.   
  
Steve loved Tony. That was true.   
  
Steve loved Tony, but that love might not be enough.   
  
Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat that the second thought produced.   
  
It wasn't an epiphany, just the resigned acceptance of a voice buried deep inside of Tony's mind with words of venom that he had ignored for a while now as it writhed and screamed inside of him. He'd thought it for a while now, on the nights he'd spent sleeping in an empty bed, but it was only in this moment that he finally had the courage to acknowledge it, even if it was only in the confines of his own mind.   
  
"Yes." His voice didn't carry anything but resignation because that was the problem, wasn't it? They loved each other, a little too messily and a little too much and a little too painfully. They loved each other like two wolves desperate to touch the moon, hungry and needy and desperate. They loved each other like two people waiting to be burnt. And neither of them were willing to let go even if they were both on fire already, too afraid of their own loneliness to bear the thought that it might be better than the alternative.   
  
Peter placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes soft and sad but holding understanding in them. He was young, but Tony didn't doubt that Peter did understand things most teenagers wouldn't. He'd experienced things no other teenager had, after all. "It's okay, Mr. Stark. I'll always be here."   
  
The rope coiled around Tony's heart came untied, loosening up enough to allow him a breath. "I know, Pete. I'll be here for you too, alright?"   
  
"Alright," Peter responded, and for once, he sounded like he really believed it. He looked away from Tony and smiled, "our ride's here!"   
  
Tony stood quickly, grabbing his backpack and waving at Happy. Happy didn't seem too unhappy with the sudden call or confused by it, just giving them both a once-over as they got situated. "Hey, Happy. My favorite guy. How're you doing?"   
  
"I was doing a lot better when I was sitting at home watching TV," Happy responded, stepping on the pedal. "You look horrible. What did Steve do?"   
  
Tony huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Relax, Hap, he didn't do anything. It was a misunderstanding with Barnes, nothing big. I just decided to take the kid to my mansion so we could take a much-needed vacation. He's never seen it before."   
  
He met Happy's eyes in the rearview, shaking his head minutely to tell him they would talk about this later when Peter wouldn't have to listen to Tony talk about the argument and the resulting panic attack and their abrupt departure. Happy seemed to get the message, turning on some gentle music so that the silence wouldn't be uncomfortable. It was a familiar track that soothed Tony's jangled nerves, and he smiled faintly out the window. Happy always played the same soft rock CD when Tony was on the verge of a panic attack or injured, jumping to retort that it was his simply favorite CD when Tony called him out on it.   
  
No matter how much he said otherwise though, Tony knew Happy. Happy was definitely not the _Carry On Wayward Son_ type of guy. He was a Mozart type of guy. That CD just gathered dust whenever Tony wasn't around.   
  
"What time do I come to pick him up for school?"   
  
Tony shared a look with Peter. "I think about 7 would be good," Tony responded, pushing his glasses up and opening his backpack. Inside were his essentials when traveling with Peter. It didn't take long for him to learn that the kid had a lot of specific needs due to his spider bite. The suit was made to better help him deal with the sensory aspect of that, but when he wasn't in a position where he could safely put it on, Tony carried around some extra tinted glasses, noise-canceling headphones, and a few other things to keep him from going into an overload.   
  
Clint had teased Tony about the bag, saying he was becoming too much of a dad but he'd only rolled his eyes at the time.   
  
So maybe it was a bit overboard but technically he _was_ a dad and Peter benefited from the bag. So screw what people said.   
  
Tony grabbed a protein bar and waved it in the air with his left hand as he continued rifling through the bag with his free hand. "You hungry, Pete?"   
  
Pete gave a non-committal hum, taking the protein bar. "Thank you."   
  
Tony pushed away the first aid kit and finally- _finally_ \- found the spare wallet he'd kept in the bag, filled with an emergency stash of cash and cards in case if he forgot his current wallet. Which, unfortunately, had been left in his suit jacket which was currently on the way to the compound, along with his book he'd been reading on the bus. Granted, he was a billionaire, but it was always safer to know he had some money on hand in case if things went awry and he had to make an emergency purchase.   
  
And if he had learned anything in life, it was that there was always an emergency ready to happen so it was best to be prepared for every situation.   
  
As he placed the wallet in his pocket, he felt the weight in his pocket again and sighed. He knew what it was supposed to mean. Steve had listened to him. Steve was still trying to make up for his mistakes.   
  
("A fossil of a flip-phone sent to the creator of the StarkPhone, really?)   
  
He didn't know what to do with the information, though. He still didn't know where he and Steve were in their relationship and it wasn't just because of what happened in Siberia or the airport. It was about the fact that he wasn't sure if his jagged edges could align with Steve's edges just right anymore. If they could still click together like they did before.   
  
Tony was pretty sure that love wasn't supposed to make his chest feel like a wall of fire, shouldn't feel like a clenched fist around the thorns of a rose, dripping blood around his ankles until there was enough to drown him. Growing up, he was told stories about soft-eyed angels with tunics and handwritten love letters;  about people with hands soft as gossamer and tender touches under the moonlight, unafraid to light up all the dark spaces in each other's hearts with their smile.   
  
All he wanted was for someone to kiss him like he meant something.   
  
The StarkPhone came to life in his hands, and he saw the little notification at the top. He had a message. Part of him wanted to delete it before he even opened it, just to be spiteful. Another part of him quivered in nervousness at being disappointed in the message waiting for him. If he didn't open it, he might avoid the hurt if the message was painful to read, but he also might miss something important.   
  
Choices, choices…   
  
After a few minutes of careful consideration (a few seconds of mentally debating with himself) curiosity won out over anxiety and he clicked open the single message from Steve Rogers with slightly trembling fingers.   
  
_Tony, this is Steve. Steve Rogers._ _  
_ _  
_ _I thought over what you said about the flip-phone and got a StarkPhone instead, which was a lot easier to use once I got the hang of it. I like that I can talk to it. It makes me feel a little less lonely. Is that why you make your AI's? If so, I think I understand a bit better now. It's a bit comforting to know that I have a virtual friend in my pocket at all times._ _  
_ _  
_ _Anyways, I just wanted to say that when you're ready, I am here.  Waiting._ _  
_   
Tony kept re-reading the last message over and over again, his heart feeling like it was exploding and caving in all at once. In the end, he settled for a small smile.   
  
"We're here, Mr. Stark! WhoahhhHH!" Peter whispered in awe, looking at the mansion he'd only ever seen in videos on TV before. "This place is art."   
  
Tony pressed his lips against the edge of the phone for a second, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he pocketed the phone and gave Peter a grin. "Come on, I'll show you the inside. You can have your own room here. Paint it, put up posters of that one show you really like with the angels and stuff, do whatever you'd like."   
  
"Really?" Peter asked, eyes wide as they approached the mansion, borderline vibrating with glee as he got closer. "You mean it, Mr. Stark? I get to have my own room?"   
  
"Sure do, kiddo," Tony responded, rumpling up Peter's hair.  "My home is your home. Always remember that."  


	7. Picture Perfect in a Broken Frame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The darkness is high  
> And you're in ten feet deep  
> But we've survived  
> More terrible monster than sleep  
> And you know I will be here  
> to tell you to breathe
> 
> Tu sei il mio soldatino (you're my little soldier)  
> la ragione per cui vivo (the reason i live)  
> non ti scordar di me (don't forget me)  
> io vegliero su di te (i'm watching over you)"  
> -Paola Bennett, Soldatino
> 
> Tony finally talks about his feelings, Bucky apologizes via puppy, Peter has a breakdown and Tony goes into Dad Overload™ mode. Also, there's: a new AI, mentions of Tony's past, and text messages between Steve Rogers and Tony.

Tony stared at the hologram, eyes distant as his mind kept him trapped in a memory, his fingers hovering over the keys.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter's voice broke him from his reverie and he turned, meeting Peter's puppy-dog eyes and internally cursing himself for allowing himself to meet those eyes without any barriers to keep him from being completely melted. Those eyes were worse than Medusa's when Peter turned his puppy-dog eyes up to ten.

Tony sighed, looking at the hologram again and swiping to look over the coding again. "What is it, kid?"

Peter hesitated, biting his lip. "Do you think- I mean, if it's okay- doyouthinkitsokayifIcangetajobsoIcangotothefieldtripatschool?"

Tony blinked, mind having to go at 200% to keep up with Peter's rate of speech when he was nervous. "Run that by me again. Slower, if you'd be so kind."

"Do you think it's okay if I get a job so I can go to the field trip at school?" Peter said a tiny bit slower. "I mean, it's completely fine if it's not okay! I'd understand and you could just sign the permission slip and say you don't want me to go and that's why I can't. I can get it right now so you could put your signature and say I can't, hold on, it's in my backpack, I'll be right ba-"

"Peter!" Tony cut in sharply, shooting his hand out to keep the kid from running to get the slip. "Two-sided conversation, kiddo. Let me be the one to decide if you can or can't go, yeah? Let's start with a discussion. Tell me about this field trip of yours. Where are you going? How long?"

Peter blushed, sitting back down. "It's a camping trip for my class to learn more about wildlife and get to study the different types of plants. It's part of our grade for science, and we keep a diary while we're there so it's part of our English class too. It's 7 days and 6 nights. I just…" he exhaled sharply, looking down at his hands. He shrugged, looking downtrodden.

Tony downloaded a domain of medical vocabulary and the latest DSM into the AI, fingers typing away. "Yeah? Why d'ya want a job?"

Another moment of hesitation. "There's a fee," Peter admitted, voice soft and bordering on ashamed, making the answer click in Tony's mind.

Ever since he'd known Peter, money had always been a problem. Peter didn't seem to grasp the idea that it was Tony's _responsibility_  to provide financially for him now and it wasn't a problem for Tony. Having grown up always slightly short on cash, Peter would clam up whenever he needed money or material things, feeling like he was being a burden. It irked Tony like nothing else because buying things and paying for things for people he loved was his _thing_  and this kid- his son- would always stammer and apologize and it made it a lot more complicated than necessary.

And Tony hated knowing Peter still worried about acting like a burden after all this time.

"How much?"

Peter fiddled with the ends of his sweater, not meeting Tony's eyes. "A thousand dollars." He pulled a loose piece of string from his sweater, getting longer and longer until it snapped off. "It's supposed to cover the fees for the bus and the ferry and renting out the cabin we're staying in."

Tony leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Listen, Pete. We've talked about this. I told you that it's my job to provide for you financially and it's not a problem. Ever. You could ask me to buy you a brand new jet and I'd do it. Probably. If you want to go, you can go. A thousand dollars doesn't have to be a big deal."

Peter frowned, shoulders still slumped, guilt etched into every pore of his body. Mr. Stark didn't get it. Money was always something he had trouble asking for from anyone, but from Mr. Stark, it was nearly impossible. It felt too much like he was taking advantage of the other man every time he asked for money and he hated that he had yet to get Mr. Stark to say no to any of his wishes. He just wasn't worth all of this, but Mr. Stark didn't see it that way. "But it's so much money."

"Yeah, but you know what? It'll make you happy. If you're happy, I'm happy." Tony reached into his pocket deliberately and pulled out his wallet, making sure that Peter was watching as he pulled out hundred dollar bills, piling them all on the table. He stacked them neatly before he handed them to Peter. Peter, wide-eyed, stared at him with a slack jaw. "Come on, kid. Catatonia isn't a good look on you."

"Mr. Stark!" Peter said, mind reeling as he stared at the money that Mr. Stark was offering to him. Mr. Stark was just going to give it to him? Just like that? No strings, no conditions, no " _be careful_ " or " _look at how kind I am to you_ "?

Tony rolled his eyes, grabbing Peter's hand and putting the wad of bills in it. Peter kept blinking at him like a newborn colt trying to understand the world. "Jeez, kid, call me Tony, I'm your dad for god's sake. And it's fine. I promise. If it wasn't fine, I wouldn't have given you the money." He turned back to the hologram, scanning it for any mistakes before clicking enter. "Come over here, Pete, take a gander at that."

He watched as the AI came to life, blinking alive in the metaphorical sense. "My name is YINSEN and I am here to help you. You need not worry. I know what I am doing much better than you do."

Peter reached out and touched the hologram, letting the light spread over his fingers as he grinned. "He's alive! He's alive!"

Tony chuckled at Peter's words, nodding. "Peter, meet the YINSEN Companion, also known as Your INtelligent Symptom- Evaluator Network, programmed to help individuals with medical and psychiatric problems. It evaluates their physical condition and devises a plan to give them the first-aid they need, or in the case of mental disorders, helps them deal with their symptoms. It is specifically programmed to help and provide therapy for the at-risk and suicidal."

"Wow," Peter whispered, in awe of the holographic projection of a man who seemed so life-like in spite of the blue tinge of his skin. Even though he'd seen a lot of things in his time as Spider-Man and Mr. Stark's intern, he couldn't help but be amazed at some of the creations Mr. Stark made that didn't go public. Peter's favorite invention of Mr. Stark's had to be Karen though, because unlike Friday, Karen was kind, understanding, patient in the way only a mother could be.

Being with Karen made Peter feel like he wasn't alone even when he actually was.

"Boss," Friday cut in, and Tony looked up- a habit he'd been trying to break the Avengers of having but instead of getting them to stop looking at the ceiling when Friday spoke, he ended up with the habit himself- to hear whatever Friday had to say. "There is a visitor for you in the lounge."

Tony's shoulders tensed, putting down the pen in his hand and putting a stop to the little hologram show. He had an inkling who the visitor was but he wanted to make sure. "Visitor?"

Friday was silent for a few seconds. "It is Sergeant Barnes, sir."

Tony took a deep breath, nodding. "Alright. Pete, stay here. Unless if I give you permission to come in, I want you away, alright? In your room, lab, kitchen, whatever. Just don't be in the same room as me and the One-Armed Wonder."

Peter nodded, shuffling from foot to foot, his eyes concerned. "Are you sure?"

There was no other option. Bucky was literally in the mansion. Unless if they decided to take the spare helicarrier and make a mad dash for Italy… "I'm sure, kiddo. What's the worse that could happen?"

Peter gave him a look that clearly conveyed I-can-think-of-a-million-possible-bad-outcomes with a single glance. Tony, as per his usual, decided to ignore it. He slapped on his watch as he walked to the lounge, grabbing the shades off of the counter on the way and putting on his Stark persona, trying to be as flamboyant and obnoxious as possible to hide the tremble in his hands.

He put his hands behind his back as he entered the lounge, meeting Bucky's eyes with a politician's smile. "Morning, Sergeant."

Bucky gave him a nod, meek and small in the spacious room, spirit shrunk down into his hunched frame. "Tony."

Tony took a seat opposite him, crossing his legs and giving Bucky a once-over. Bucky looked like he hadn't been sleeping well but he was cleaner, his face clean-shaven and his hair brushed and silky. When he'd seen Bucky last, Bucky's hair had been something of a mess, unkempt and greasy, his face covered in stubble he hadn't bothered in shaving.

Bucky looked better, healthier, maybe even a little bit less dead inside. "How are you doing?" Tony asked, his hands on his knees, feeling the ridges of his jeans under his palm absentmindedly.

"I'm doing good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A moment of silence passed where neither of them bothered to fill the space between them with words. There was a rift there, gaping, a chasm so large that one wrong step could send the both of them spiraling downwards.

Bucky kept staring at Tony, eyes soft, dented armor off and nothing to keep him from being broken a tiny bit more than he already was, vulnerable in the way that left him on edge on most days. If he wanted Tony to know he was being sincere he had to make sure Tony could see him, even the broken parts he always wanted to hide on instinct.

(Showing people where you were weak gave them the perfect chance to aim for it.)

There were too many things between them, forgotten promises and gunsmoke breaths and aching limbs and hearts that craved to be touched.

Bucky believed they were similar, and perhaps that's why what happened happened- fuel and fire couldn't meet without leaving something in flames. He was regretful, penitent, but some part of him didn't deny that it was an inevitability for the both of them to ignite a fire and burn. Bucky broke everything he touched and Tony- well, Tony always handled his own heart with a thoughtlessness that made him hand it over to people with bloody hands far too often.

Humans were like that after all, creatures with hearts made of dandelions and glass shards.

It was almost certain from the beginning that at some point in time something like this would happen. Bucky should have expected that he'd do something as stupid as this.

Tony, for his part, didn't despise Bucky, didn't fault him for the brokenness in his eyes or the way he yearned for the world with a desperation so strong he could devour stars. Tony understood. Tony knew what it was like to shatter the mirror in the wall and revel in the shards of glass, grinning red and wide as he dove at his enemies with a recklessness in his bones that had little to do with the battle itself.

He knew what it was like to look in the mirror and hate what you saw. He understood the pain it took for someone to try and push everyone away.

"I have something that might help you," Tony said, clicking a button on his watch, waiting as the hologram loaded. "It's called the YINSEN companion, it helps people with medical and psychological needs they'd rather have handled in private. I'll be downloading it to the medical bay in the compound too, but if you'd like I could give you a personalized version of it to help you with your…" He gestured vaguely over Bucky's entire person, not knowing how to put a name to what Bucky suffered from.

Bucky huffed, shaking his head and placing his elbows on his knees, his eyes filled with self-loathing and disbelief so tangible it was practically a third presence in the room. "Wow."

"I'm amazing, I know," Tony responded in a monotonous voice, knowing that Bucky was talking about something entirely different thing altogether.

Bucky squinted, meeting Tony's eyes. "You're really not going to get mad, are you? I… I yelled at you. I was a complete dick. At least have the decency to give me a good punch in the jaw or something instead of-" Bucky jerked his head to the holographic man in between them. "This. Would definitely make me feel a lot better about being a dick if you'd be a dick back."

Tony gave Bucky a small smile, shrugging, feeling the tension between them melt like cotton candy and leave the easy lightness they had between each other. "What can I say? I think martyrdom is a good look on me."

Bucky laughed, high and loose, looking at Tony with a crooked grin as the nervousness that had kept him restless for the past few days bubbled and dissipated. "I hate you."

"Then we have at least one topic we agree on."

"If you hate me too, then that would make two," Bucky responded, a small smile playing on his face. Steve was right. Tony really did have a problem with forgiving people too quickly and not standing for himself fast enough. He'd have to make sure that Tony wouldn't get hurt because it seemed that Tony didn't seem to care all that much about getting hurt. This time, Bucky would keep his promise to protect Tony. If his life depended on it, he'd keep the promise. He'd been lucky that Rhodey seemed to understand- even if Bucky didn't exactly want him to- and forgave him, only giving him a disapproving look that may or may not have been Bucky projecting his own disapproval of himself onto others.

Tony canted his head. "Touche."

"I'm sorry, Tony. I really am. I mean it." There was another beat of silence before Bucky broke it, his tone more serious. "I wanted to get you something to show that I'm sorry," he said, reaching for his backpack and Tony squinted.

"You didn't have to."

Bucky shot him a smile. "But I did." He unzipped the already partially-open bag, revealing a brown bundle of-

Dog.

It was a _dog_ , brown and white fur covering its tiny body. Bucky placed it on the floor, gently pushing it towards Tony. The puppy's tail wagged, sniffing the floor before he moved to sniff Tony's legs. Tony stared at Bucky as he picked up the little critter into his arms with surprise written all over his face. "You bought me a _dog_?" Of all the ways to apologize, this wasn't something that Tony had anticipated.

He could barely even take care of himself, let alone a dog.

"I thought that it would be nice for you to have some company," Bucky responded, wincing as his metal arm ached. "I know how animals can be more worthwhile companions than people sometimes."

Tony nodded, rubbing the puppy behind the ears. "What's his name? Her name? Is it male or female?"

"Female," Bucky said, "and she doesn't have a name yet. You can give her a name."

Tony frowned in thought before he shrugged. "I'll let Peter decide on a name. Hold on- Friday, can you tell our local spiderling that he can come out from his position in the vents and come and see the new puppy?"

A few seconds later, Peter landed from the vents and looked between them meekly, a blush on his face. Tony gave him a knowing smile, beckoning him over to the puppy. "You heard everything so there's no need to talk about it. Tell me whatcha think. What should her name be?"

Peter grinned at the little pit-bull, hugging her to his chest, unable to help the warmth that flooded through his chest. "Can we name her Taco?" he asked, looking at Taco like she'd personally created light and everything good in the universe, wanting nothing more than to hug the puppy forever.

Tony watched him fondly, sharing a look with Bucky.  _Thank you_ , he mouthed and Bucky gave him a smile as Peter rolled around on the floor with Taco. "Sure thing, kid. Your choice."

"I think she should be called Taco because she's brown and white and beautiful like a taco," Peter explained. "She's not the exact same color as a taco but I think Taco's a good name for her."

"Whatever you want."

\--

Tony sat in bed, staring at the screen of the phone blankly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He'd been in the same position for the last five minutes, trying to decide whether or not to send a message.

tinman: _Greased Lightning came over earlier with a puppy. Peter loved it and named it Taco- fell asleep with the dog in his arms. How're you doing?_

Tony deleted it, shaking his head. It was too buddy-buddy and he couldn't help but blanch at the idea of trying to start a conversation that way. He just wanted to talk to Steve but he didn't understand why it was so complicated.

tinman: _I sent an AI bot to the medical bay at the compound earlier. What do you think? Are there any improvements you can suggest?_

No, too impersonal. That wasn't the reason he wanted to talk to Steve and they'd both know it.

tinman: _Steve, it's hard to let go, I miss-_

Delete.

tinman: _Steve, I'm sor-_

Backspace.

tinman: _Steve, come back, I still lov-_

He clicked out of the messaging app, trying to calm his yearning heart with memories of why he'd left. He'd wanted to go but he didn't want to be alone. Not really.

He let out a loud sigh, placing the phone on the bedside table and putting his head in his hands, his mind a cluster of unfinished thoughts and memories of hands that knew him more intimately than anyone ever had before.

Tony missed Steve like an ache in his bones that wanted nothing more than to have Steve curl up against him and tell him everything would be okay. Some days he could pretend that it didn't hurt.

Today was one of the days he couldn't pretend.

Today the ache felt like a steady thrum in his veins that kept calling out Steve's name.

His phone dinged and his eyes darted over to it, unlocking it with jittery fingers to see the message.

il mio soldatino: _Do you remember the time we went to Italy and we spent the entire flight with you teaching me Italian and feeding me those chocolates that I loved? You sang a song (I think it was a lullaby?) in Italian that just made me feel all sorts of ways because I didn't know before that how well you could sing. It was so beautiful and it was the first time we told each other we loved one another. Do you remember that?_

il mio soldatino: _All I can think about right now is every happy memory we had together. You're all that's running through my mind._

il mio soldatino: _I miss you, Tony. I'm sorry things didn't end up how we wanted it to. I wish I could take it all back._

Tony let out a loud sigh, placing his head against the cool surface of his wall, closing his eyes. He was so tired of feeling alone. Wasn't love supposed to heal? Then why did it leave him with his heart in his stomach and his hands feeling ice-cold without the warmth of anybody else to hold it?

tinman: _I miss you too, Steve._

The response came only a few seconds later.

il mio soldatino: _When you're ready… I'm at home waiting for you._

Tony swallowed against the lump in his throat.

tinman: _I know._

"Emotional distress detected," the AI said, coming to life, YINSEN's holographic image forming in Tony's office.

_("Don't waste your life," Yinsen had told Tony with his last breath, clutching Tony's hand in a cave in Afghanistan.)_

"Stop," Tony barked, shaking his head. "I'm not in the mood for this."

YINSEN stared at him with a calculating look that felt almost real enough to make Tony squirm underneath its intensity. "You are stressed. Your heart rate is fast, your eyes are dilated, your breathing pattern is unsteady. You need a companion. I am here."

Tony wanted to scream, the tears welling in his eyes even as he clenched his teeth against it.

"Tell me what's wrong, Stark."

_I love him, I love him, I love him. I love him and it hurts and I'm so tired of everything hurting._

"I want to go home," was what left his mouth, the thought dropping softly into his mind before he'd had the chance to think it through. He didn't even know what it meant but the painful longing inside of him did.

He'd been fighting for too long and his armor hung heavily on his frame, battered and bloodied and broken. He fought to survive, to protect everyone he cared for by putting his body between them and the burning universe, to live, to love, to feel just a moment's delight.

In the back of his mind though, memories of his mother's smiles and soft hands remind him that he was not always so broken. Memories of lullabies in Italian and warm arms and safety remind him that he was once a son, a friend, a lover.

Deep inside he knew that he was not meant to be a fighter. His heart was too soft to withstand the blows of battle but he learned to grit his teeth and throw up masks to pretend he wasn't soaked in his own blood, wasn't drowning in the blood that came from carrying around his own heart for too long.

Unlike his teammates, Tony didn't have a magic serum that made him feel brave and strong, didn't have a mutation that made him immune to most attacks, didn't have ichor running through his veins to remind him he was stronger than anything the Earth could do to him.

He was human.

Devastatingly human.

There was a time when Tony Stark didn't always mean 'protector' and 'Avenger' and 'hero'.

There was a time when Tony Stark meant 'tender', 'sweet', 'kind', and 'soft'.

He longed to go back to those times before he first touched the metal he would weld into armor, the days when his biggest worries came from being the youngest billionaire and CEO of a company as infamous as Stark Industries.

He wanted to go somewhere quiet. He wanted to go to the bottom of the ocean or the moon, somewhere he could be left in peace, somewhere he could escape from the overwhelming sadness and pain in himself, where there was nothing to make him feel alone or broken ever again.

He wanted to go somewhere he never had to think about trust or love or betrayal ever again.

"This is home," YINSEN responded, his tone curious and confused, "sitting" down next to Tony.

Tony let out a laugh, high and loose and broken. "No," he said, voice ragged and more than a little shattered. "This isn't home. This is a damn good illusion of one though."

"Where is home then?"

_Anywhere away from here,_ Tony wanted to say. "I'm not sure yet. I don't care."

"To get better you have to care."

Tony huffed, tossing the phone into the cabinet and shutting it. Caring hurt too much. Even if he couldn't stop caring, he detested it.

He cared too much. About the rest of the world, about keeping people safe, about the Avengers, about Steve and Peter.

He leaned back against his bed and threw a pillow over his face, wiping the dampness from his eyes. "Go 'way."

"Are you suicidal?"

"Fuck off."

"I cannot. That would be a horrible way to treat a suicidal patient. I have a contractual and moral obligation to ensure that my patients live- to abandon you without knowing for certain you are safe would be neglectful."

"I made you, dickwad. You're supposed to do as I say and I'm telling you to go away."

YINSEN canted his head, a smile playing on his lips. "You made me for patients to consult with when they cannot see a doctor for numerous reasons. I was made to save lives and I think I'd prefer to start with saving yours."

"You've already saved my life, YINSEN. I think once is enough. Now go away."

There was a beat of silence. "You can talk to me about what's bothering you, Anthony."

Tony growled, throwing his pillow at the hologram, watching it go right through YINSEN. He should put YINSEN in a suit or something so he could pummel the fucking thing when it was annoying and being all compassionate and caring and shit.

"Anthony," YINSEN said patiently, sounding condescending and patient and smug all at once.

_I shouldn't have fucking made you._

"My name is _Tony_ ," he said.

"Tell me what's wrong. Tony."

Tony gritted his teeth, throwing himself back down onto the bed, glaring at the ceiling with his arms crossed over his chest. He was most definitely not sulking, he told himself. He was just… thinking silently, ignoring the annoying piece of shit AI bot in his room, and trying to sleep.

It was late. Most people were asleep at this hour. He was just trying to sleep (a laughable idea) and YINSEN was getting in the way of that, giving him a perfectly valid reason to be upset.

"Tony-"

"Steve," he blurted out, grabbing his hair with his hands. "His name is Steve."

The words caught on his throat and he had to breathe for a few seconds before it ebbed away enough for him to keep talking. The white ceiling stared back at him as tears slid down the sides of his face, leaving patches of darkness on his gray pillow.

"I love him, but… It's hard now. There's so much bad blood and pain between the two of us and sometimes I think that it'd be easier if I just let go and try to move on instead of trying to reanimate the carcass of what we had. But I love him. I can't _stop_  loving him and believe me, I've tried. I tried to get myself to stop loving him after he ran off with Bucky for the first time and I thought it was over."

It wasn't actually over, apparently they would last another couple years until it was over, but Tony tried anyway to make myself stop loving Steve because he was worried Steve would leave. He was worried because Tony Stark didn't measure up to Bucky Barnes. Not in their universe, anyway. Tony Stark was broken and damaged and Bucky Barnes was a war hero who sacrificed his life for the Howling Commandos. Tony grew up on stories about them, knew how heroic they were, and he just wasn't ever going to be like that.

"I love him and he loves me, logically I know that, but I just…" he let out a sharp sigh, his throat constricting again. "I just don't understand why it has to be so hard."

He sold the tower because his things and Steve's things had just become _things_  mixed together and he couldn't tell anymore where he started and where Steve ended. It was too domestic, too painful to come home to when the bed was empty and cold and the only ones around weren't capable of fixing the gaping hole inside of him that Steve Rogers left. So he moved, he went to the compound. Things were okay for a while and then Steve came back, with his warm eyes and soothing presence and his way of parenting every individual in the compound.

For a while, Tony thought things might be okay if they just didn't talk about what happened.

But they were too afraid to get too close to each other- well, _Tony_ was afraid. He could see how Steve would wince every time he would say he was busy, but  _he was terrified._

Getting too close hurt in the most subtle of ways, aching deep in the very marrow of his bones.

"Steve makes the relationship hard?" YINSEN asked. 

"It's not just his fault though. It was his first relationship since the 40's, for god's sake. He doesn't know what he's doing, in life or in the relationship. I don't blame him, I'm the same way."

Maybe that was why things were fucked up: they were both broken.

He knew that he was lacking in the emotional department, that he didn't know how to tell someone he wasn't being a dick on purpose, he was just scared. He couldn't make himself sit down and say _"let's have dinner"_ because saying that would lead to other things and he just wasn't ready.

And he wasn't ready to love. Not yet. If he allowed himself to love Steve so soon, he was scared he'd fall back into the same habits of saying _"it's okay, you didn't mean it, it's okay, I deserved it, I understand"_ like he'd done for past lovers with cold hands and sharp teeth that left marks that went past his body.

So Tony left. He ran.

He ran because he was afraid that if he stayed for much longer he would lose something integral to himself and he'd never get the courage to run again.

He ran because he was afraid that if he stayed, he'd forget why he wanted to go and just melt into the arms that would make him feel like everything was okay when it wasn't. 

But Steve was in his mind, in his heart, etched into the atoms that made him Tony Stark and there was no running from the desperate longing inside of him.

YINSEN's face was serious but free of judgment, watching as Tony wiped the wetness from his eyes, his chest heaving. "Then tell me what the problem is."

"I don't want to do this anymore," he whispered like a secret, curling into himself a little more when he gave away the only thing he felt was his anymore: his emotions.

His body and life belonged to the universe he knew he would inevitably die to protect, his thoughts belonged to the future that he would help mould with his ideas and inventions, and he wasn't naive enough to believe that even his name didn't belong to Howard and Maria Stark and the future generations of people who would utter his name like a summons and sucked the soul out of him like a viper.

But his emotions were his and his alone. All he was sure of was that he was in pain and no amount of howling and keening would make it go away until the situation was fixed.

Even if he wasn't quite sure how to fix it and he wasn't quite sure he really wanted to.

"I'm scared," he admitted softly. He didn't elaborate on what he was afraid of because if he did, the list might just run on forever.

He was afraid of:

  * _losing everyone he loved_
  * _losing control_
  * _losing himself_
  * _failing to protect those he cared for_
  * _betrayal_
  * _being forgotten_
  * _getting hurt_
  * _Steve_
  * _his own crippling anxiety_
  * _the way the void called to him in his dreams_



YINSEN scanned him again with an objective look in his eyes. "It will be okay."

_Nothing ever is._

"If you want this, you must keep fighting for it. If you do not, then you must let go. You overcomplicate things needlessly, Tony. Just breathe. If you let these thoughts swirl around your mind until they become alive and they devour you, you will lose that way."

"How do I win?" Tony asked, voice weak.

YINSEN's lips twitch upward in a wonderful display of artificial intelligence and artificial emotions. "You do not die."

\--

"Hey you depressed asshole, how're you doing?" Rhodey asked the moment he stepped into the lounge and Tony couldn't help the surprised laugh from leaving his lips. He gave his best friend a smile, looking up from the piano he was playing.

"I am doing well, actually," Tony responded with a genuine glint in his eyes, feeling lighter now that he'd unloaded all of his stresses to a virtual human being who had no possibility of leaking his information because he was the one who made it.

Was he a bit paranoid?

The answers seemed to lean towards yes.

Rhodey took a seat on the sofa, smiling at the puppy as it climbed onto the sofa beside him. "Hello, little girl," he cooed, petting it. "I see you got Bucky's little gift for you. Where's Pete?"

"Attending training for Avengers as he usually does this time," Tony responded, beginning to play the tune to the song Peter requested. Something called 'Burn'? He didn't really understand why Peter wanted that song in particular but he was trying to learn how to play it anyway because he was bored out of his mind. Peter had given him the notes the night before and told him that it was for an "experiment".

Weird kid.

Rhodey hummed, listening to him play with a raised eyebrow. "You like Hamilton?"

"What?"

"Hamilton," Rhodey repeated, gesturing to the piano. "The musical. That's one of their songs. Burn, right?"

Tony nodded jerkily. "Uh, yeah, I think. Peter gave me the notes and asked me to learn it after I asked for suggestions, so…" He shrugged, eyes focused on the keys.

Rhodey kept silent, eyes soft and amused and sad all at once. Tony could tell from his silence alone that he had something on his mind he wasn't sharing. "What is it?" he said, still clicking away, not removing his eyes from the piano. The weight of Rhodey's gaze was not lost on him, however, and he could see Rhodey staring from the corner of his eye.

"The song has a lot of meaning behind it," Rhodey responded, rubbing his chin with his finger, not quite giving up whatever knowledge he had of the song.

"Friday," Tony said, sighing and stopping the song. Rhodey was going to kill him by not giving him straight answers and acting like he knew something Tony didn't like a smug bastard. Tony's weakness had always been the overwhelming urge to know everything and understand more than he should. It was a problem sometimes but for god's sake, he'd be uneasy for the rest of the day unless if he understood what Rhodey was being all elusive about. "Play the original song."

As the lyrics played, he began to regret his decision, letting out a loud groan and dropping his head into his hands.

_You and your words flooded my senses_  
_Your sentences left me defenseless_  
_You built me palaces out of paragraphs_  
_You built cathedrals_

_I'm re-reading the letters you wrote me_  
_I'm searching and scanning for answers_  
_In every line_  
_For some kind of sign_  
_And when you were mine_  
_The world seemed to burn, burn_

His eyes darted to the phone on top of the piano, his chest buzzing from the arc reactor that was now virtually indestructible.

He remembered why he'd decided to make it indestructible. _You promised you loved me, you promised you'd protect me, you promised forever._

"That son of a bitch," Tony murmured as the song kept playing, shaking his head in amusement and fondness for Peter and his antics. "Didn't even tell me what the song actually was."

_Do you know what Angelica said_  
_When she read what you'd done?_  
_She said, "You've married an Icarus._  
_He has flown too close to the sun."_

Rhodey smirked. "It's pretty fitting for you and the boy wonder though," he commented mildly, not an ounce of judgment or pity in his tone. It was what Tony loved most about him. He could go to Rhodey all banged up and broken and weak and Rhodey would just patch him up and tell him to get off his knees without making him feel all delicate and fragile. Rhodey would always crack a joke and make him feel like he wasn't on the verge of breaking. "Does this make me Angela?"

Tony laughed, running his fingers through his hair. "I guess so," he said, tone teasing.

"Then again, Angela was initially in love with Alexander and let me assure you, not true in the slightest."

"No, of course not," Tony said, "I'm sure you prefer more… well-traveled, sentimental and poetic folks, right? You prefer someone who can make you feel like they love all your perfect imperfections."

"I hate you," Rhodey said laughing, shaking his head and walking over to grab Tony from his chair. "Come on, we're eating."

Tony looked at him dryly as he was bodily pulled along to the kitchen. "I see how much value my opinion is being given at the moment."

"Fuck you and your opinion. You know that if I asked you'd say no so I'm calling the shots. We're eating. Pizza or Chinese?"

Tony took a seat at the table, taking off his watch and stretching his wrist. "Chinese. Orange chicken, if I absolutely must eat."

"You do. Look at you, being all skinnier than me and shit. Not fair, not everyone can live on coffee and spite. Give me a bit of a headstart at least." Rhodey sat across from Tony, silence filling the space for a long stretch of time.

The other man stared at his hands intensely, eyes burning like he was seeing constellations painted in front of him for only he to see, and Rhodey remembered a fact he heard once about Newton. The genius' mind went so fast, always brimming with new ideas, that when he woke up he had to sit at the end of his bed and put his head in his hands, waiting for his mind to 'settle'.

Some days it was easy to forget that Tony "create a useless robot whose main function was to annoy his best friend" Stark was the same person that sat in the middle of some cave in Afghanistan and chose to create a suit out of scraps. Some days Rhodey forgot that Tony wasn't the same scrawny mess of a punk in uni with a mind too fast that he would spend days awake, talking about some new idea, bordering on manic until he crashed down, but that was a mistake on his part. Sure, some things remained the same: the flights of ideas that kept Tony working his fingers to the bone to create, the way ideas fell softly into his mind and he'd grab hold of it like a man desperate to keep his mind from being empty, the way his soul was an endless well of sadness.

But Tony'd grown up a lot since then, his soft and youthful face has long since become harder and wearier, and his heart, though soft, had grown and toughened up to the trials of life. He learned how to straighten his back and not shy away from people's gazes, learning how to stand in front of thousands without revealing anything. He learned how to grit his teeth and keep going without missing a beat.

He'd grown a helluva lot stronger.

Millions of people around the globe recognized him as a hero in more ways than one. He shaped modern science, saved countless lives, inspired generations of people to be better versions of themselves the moment he stepped out of a cave and decided "something is wrong and I will not be part of the problem".

Tony from uni would definitely look at the Tony Stark now and think "I wanna be that guy" because he'd see all the success and greatness that everyone saw when Tony walked into a room and claimed everyone's attention before he even uttered a word. The problem was that the present Tony looked in a mirror and said "I want to be anyone else" because he saw himself through a more critical gaze and only saw his failures and mistakes while the rest of the world saw his achievements.

"Mr. Stark?" a voice from the lounge called and Rhodey immediately tensed at the distraught tone, sharing a look with Tony before they both stood. Tony put on his watch as they walked forward cautiously and Rhodey kept a hand on his watch-laser that Tony made for him for situations that came up out of nowhere. Rhodey stayed behind Tony, ready in case if there was something there that needed defeating.

Peter sat in the middle of the living room, curled up onto himself, shoulders quivering. "Pete, what is it?" Tony asked, kneeling beside the boy whose breaths filled the air with horrible, ragged, rattling sounds like he hadn't been breathing for the last minute. Peter shook his head. There were trembles, many of them, his entire body shaking violently. Rhodey saw the tears coursing down the boy's pale face, his eyes wide and wild and broken.

The fan overhead filled the silence, too loud suddenly now that it was dead-silent with only Peter's harsh breaths and silent sobs to fill the space of the mansion.

Tony did the only thing he knew how to do: he pulled Peter into his arms and let the teenager sob in his arms like a lost and hopeless child. Peter limply let himself be maneuvered, leaning against Tony. Tony shared a look with Rhodey over Peter's head, eyes wide with concern and confusion. He'd sent Peter to training earlier with a smile on his face and a bright glint in his eyes. Something had happened between then and now and for the life of him Tony didn't know what it was.

"It's okay. You're alright," Tony assured, "Friday, set everything at 50%." The entire room grew dimmer, the lights becoming softer and warmer and the humming sounds of the fridge and other electronics fading into nothing. Rhodey took a seat, watching the two as Tony tried to get Peter to wind down enough to tell him what was wrong. Peter's fingers clenched around Tony's soft gray shirt, his face buried in Tony's chest; Rhodey couldn't deny how natural it looked for Tony to whisper soothing words, lips pressed against the hair of the weeping boy like he'd been doing it all his life. "You're alright. I'm here. You're safe. I've got you."

"I don't wanna go- I don't wanna go back, don't make me go back, please don't make me go back," Peter begged, voice absolutely wrecked and ragged like he'd spent the last few hours screaming.

Tony hated it, the sound sending chills down his back because it sounded too similar to how he'd sounded in Afghanistan after the hours of torture that made his mind go numb. He screamed without knowing he'd even opened his mouth to utter a sound, logic being overpowered by his human nature, the determination to keep quiet being pushed back by all the pain that made his mind short-circuit in a white-hot flash of _pain, pain, pain._

Hearing Peter's voice made Tony's blood feel like tar.

Tony didn't understand.

Peter used to enjoy attending training for young Avengers-to-be, saying that he loved that he could work on his reflexes and run the routines for 'what-ifs' and get to know others like him. He usually liked it, saying that it was fun to use his mind for the different mission-training drills and get used to what it was like to be a hero.

Tony nodded like he understood what the half-coherent rambling meant. "You won't go back if you don't want to, kid. I promise."

He let Peter cry out the rest of his fear, ignoring the wetness against his shirt and the way that Peter's fingers pierced into his back, desperate and terrified. Tony hated the way that Peter shrunk in his grip, limp and trembling like a wounded animal being cornered, crying like all the stars had fallen from the sky and there was nothing left but to wait for the end.

_"She's gone, Mr. Stark, she's gone-"_

He'd cried then too, all liquid limbs and hollow eyes, grieving and floundering around the streets like a ghost until Tony found him on the rooftop with a picture of May and a backpack filled with his clothes.

_"I have nowhere else to go," Peter had admitted like it was his darkest secret. Tony saw between the lines though, he understood what Peter was trying to say without saying it: I'm all alone._

_Tony took a seat beside Peter on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling off of the edge. He wasn't supposed to get too close but goddammit it was already too late to pretend that he didn't care about the spider-boy. "Then come with me. You can stay as long as you'd like, I'll deal with the paperwork, you can be my… something. Son. Ward. Whatever you'd like to be."_

_"You'll adopt me?"_

_"If you want me to." 'If you'll have me' had been the words he wanted to say and a piece of him was afraid that Peter would say no. He didn't know what he would have done if Peter said he didn't want Tony._

_And Peter, still sitting on the rooftop with his chin quivering, murmured, "please."_

When Peter finally pulled away after a long bout of tears, Tony's heart dropped; he barely managed to bite his tongue to keep from screaming about who the fuck hurt Peter. The left side of his face was splotched with dark bruises from the jaw to just below his cheekbone, covered in dried blood from his busted lip and cut eyebrow. "What happened?" he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

"We were training… I didn't mean to cry, I was just… overwhelmed, I'm sorry," Peter responded, rubbing his arms numbly.

"It's good to let it out," Tony said, his hands still on Peter's shoulder. "What happened in training?"

Peter stared at his hands, his face still pale with the exception of the bruises on his face. "We were training and had to do this sort of… raid on this abandoned warehouse and I just couldn't stop remembering the Vulture- and how the building fell on me- and I couldn't focus. It was supposed to be simple, in and out, but I just _couldn't_ _focus_. All I could think was the building was going to fall over and I would die this time and I don't _want_ to die but I will if it happens again because even if- even if they drag me out or I manage to drag myself out again, I won't be leaving that pile of rubble. I can't do it again, Mr. Stark, I can't-"

Rhodey could see the way that Tony's shoulders tensed, pulled taut like a rubber band being pulled back before it snapped forward, but his face was calm like he wasn't having his own internal panic attack. Rhodey could see the sweat beading on the back of his neck though. Rhodey could see the panic that Peter couldn't.

The panic that Tony wasn't ready to show Peter.

"-And there was a group of men with illicit substances there. That was why we were there it was just a freaking _drugs bust_ but I was too panicked to do anything and they attacked my partner and one guy pulled out his knife- I couldn't do nothing, so I jumped. And it hit me and I made sure she got away but I was stuck and I-"

_"What're you doing up, Pete?"_

_"I can't sleep. I can't stop remembering."_

Peter never told Mr. Stark the details. He never gave the intimate and gritty details of what it was like to lay underneath a pile of rubble and remember that he had soft flesh and one of the nails could pierce into it as easily as a knife into butter if he moved wrong. He didn't talk about the way his heart seized and every single bone in his body felt like it was being grounded into the concrete and knowing there was nobody to come save him. He didn't talk about how he'd screamed and how he'd felt like he was the last person on earth when nobody answered back.

"Breathe, Peter."

"-couldn't do anything, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move. The men kept on kicking and hitting until the rest of the team found me after Alana alerted them that I was in need of assistance. It healed, of course, but it hurt and I couldn't stop remembering the fucking Vulture and being trapped under tons of concrete and feeling like I was dying and-"

He didn't tell Mr. Stark about any of the specifics about the missions. He didn't talk about the way that stars danced behind his eyes when someone landed a punch just right against his stomach or the way that he just wanted to fucking help everyone but there were so _many_ of them and he never knew who to help. He didn't know how he was supposed to rest when there were countless people getting hurt, dying, being raped, killing themselves.

He never mentioned how he felt like he was a kid trying to play adult, or about how terrified him that he knew that if it came down to him and a civilian, he'd always make sure the civilian would live- he felt the knowledge in his bones and he could see it clearly happening behind his closed eyelids when he slept.

One day he would die for someone else without thinking before he jumped in front of that bullet or knife. It was written into the stars and etched into the constellations. Peter knew it. He knew it like Mr Stark knew there was something coming, something big and terrifying that would turn all their defenses into dust. He knew it like he'd known that at some point he would lose May too.

"Peter, you're having a panic attack. Take a breath, we can talk about this later."

Peter couldn't stop though, unable to stop the disconcerting sensation that he was falling. A flood of emotions broke the flimsy dam he'd spent so long constructing with smiles and jokes and skillfully created barriers between him and the rest of the world. He'd spent so long avoiding the pain but it was demanding to be felt, not allowing him the luxury of looking away from the gaping wounds.

"-they took me back and to the training room and I was helpless and scared and then the coach just came in and kept yelling and he wouldn't stop yelling and I couldn't breathe and he called me worthless and weak and I couldn't breathe or focus and he kept on telling me to stand up but I couldn't stand up so he just- he wouldn't stop hitting me- and I just… I couldn't fight back because I was a-" Peter stopped suddenly, blinking rapidly as the stinging in his eyes increased, the word 'coward' on the tip of his tongue.

He was a coward.

He never told Mr. Stark about James, whose cold eyes would pierce into him when he made a mistake during training. He didn't mention the cruel words that spewed from his lips like cyanide or the way his hands moved too fast and hit too hard, telling himself it was a part of training. He never told Mr. Stark about the different types of 'tests' to see how good they were at fighting, about how rooms would feel too cold, too dark, too small when he was blindfolded in the same room as James. About how he was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that his flesh was soft and he had no claws or weapons and he couldn't outrun someone he couldn't see. He didn't talk about the bruises and cuts, nor the terror that made his chest seize every time.

James always said that the pain was supposed to guide them, teach them how to take the wounds and turn it into motivation to survive. They were supposed to lose their weakness and be a hollow container for the strength and bravery they needed to be heroes.

The fan overhead was unbearably cold in the sudden silence, grating on everyone's nerves, making the situation almost overwhelmingly intimate and personal. Peter's voice was low and breathy when he spoke next. "If I wasn't a coward, I would have been able to save Uncle Ben."

Tony shook his head, pulling Peter to his chest again. "Nope, no, don't do that to yourself, kid," he said, "pull on that string and your whole mind will unravel. What happened wasn't your fault, you were a kid. Would you expect a 12-year-old kid to save their uncle- who is a trained police officer- and jump in front of a bullet? No? Thought not. Nobody expects you to either."

"But I-" Peter said, stopping to take in a breath. "I should have done something. I could have, if I'd reacted in time. I just… I froze. If I hadn't, he might be alive."

Tony sighed, his insides simmering with an ice-cold rage at whoever the fuck was the coach for the Avengers-to-be. He'd need to have some serious words with the asshole, see if he was doing anything like this regularly. Maybe he needed to make a special appearance to remind the guy that he was meant to be teaching and guiding, not calling students worthless and weak and causing them to go home and have a panic attack.

"Do you remember what I told you about my dad, Pete? About how he's not a nice guy?" Tony asked, trying a different approach.

Peter nodded, all the fight gone from his soul, leaving nothing but exhaustion and numbness.

"Do you remember that I told you he was a mean drunk?"

Peter nodded again.

Tony nodded, thinking over his words carefully. He'd never willingly talked about his dad in this context before, but it looked like he couldn't keep running from it anymore. "Well, one time, when I was about 4… He got into this huge fight with my mom. Over me. And I just cowered there in the corner of the room with tears going down my face. Mom was trying to get him to stop, to just go to bed and stop drinking, but he was so _angry_ with me for some reason. Called me a son of a bitch and all lovely terms you'd usually use for your first-born son. He kept on trying to slap me around but my mom got in the way so he-" Tony let out a breath sharply, miming a backhanded slap, not wanting to say it.

_"Mama!" Tony had screamed, running forward to hug his mother, sobbing as he wrapped his thin frame around her. "Mama!" The blood that filled his mouth from Howard's fist didn't make him stop screaming until Howard left the two of them on the floor. Maria cried with him._

"For years I told myself I should have done something more than crying and screaming. Should have defended my mother, should have calmed down my father, should have taken it like a man… But I was young and it's not a child's responsibilty to parent their parents. He put too much on my plate and it wasn't my job to bear his pain and anger issues for him. It wasn't supposed to be my job to protect them from themselves- dad from his alcoholism and mom from her undying loyalty to the son of a bitch."

He rubbed his chin, meeting Peter's solemn and sympathetic eyes. "The point that I'm trying to make is that I still have nightmares over that day. I still regret not doing anything because I _could_ have done something but didn't because I was afraid and I didn't react in time. And that's okay.

"Sometimes, the things that give us nightmares and regrets aren't even related to superhero-ing and some are. That's okay, Peter. It's okay to be hurt by the things that happen to us. Pain is a part of the human experience and we all feel it. You need to let us in to help you. You need to trust that we've got your back. Don't let the pain turn you bitter and cold. Don't shut everyone out."

Peter looked down at his hands, his shoulders slumping. "I just want to be brave like you."

"You're not," Tony responded. "It's the truth, Peter. You're not as brave as me, you're ten times braver and better than I will ever be. You've endured things nobody your age should and I think you're one of the best kids I could've asked for. When I was your age, I was… Jesus, I was just in the library building stupid robots like Dum-E and Butterfingers to mess with Rhodey. I couldn't be prouder of you if I tried. I don't say that enough, but it's true."

Peter's eyes brightened, pride and joy lighting them up like stars as he looked at Tony with nothing but utmost admiration and hope. He gave Tony a hug, warm and tender, pulling away with a smile on his face.

"And getting your ass kicked left and right," Rhodey muttered, raising a challenging eyebrow at Tony's bitchface. "It's true. You wouldn't sit your scrawny ass down and accept that you were going to get bullied for being a nerd no matter how many times you tried your hand at fighting."

Tony threw the nearby pillow at him. "I did too manage to win fights!"

"Doesn't really balance the fact that you were a 14-year-old fighting grown-ass people and getting your ass handed to you on the regular."

"Piss off, James."

"Ohohoh! James now, is it, Anthony?"

Peter giggled, looking at the two of them.

Rhodey smiled softly at him before he shook his head affectionately. "Alright, is the teledrama over? The food's getting cold, come on. Pete, you want orange chicken or teriyaki or pizza? We've got all of them."

"Teriyaki, please," Pete responded, getting up. Tony watched him go before he stood.

He'd definitely be having some words with the leader of the Young Avengers, whoever the hell the irrelevant-ass piece of shit turned out to be.

He ignored Rhodey's knowing look and whispered words of "tell me if I need to call your lawyer again, Tones," trying to act cool and collected and level-headed even though his chest burned with resentment. Someone hurt _his_  son.

They were going to be sorry, he was going to make fucking sure of it.

If the YINSEN programming was suddenly added to Karen, then… well, nobody could really blame Tony for trying to make sure that any events like this would be recorded and documented in the future- just in case if it escalated into a bigger problem for Peter- and that Peter would never be alone to deal with a panic attack again.

And if the Young Avengers suddenly got a new leader that Tony had personally chosen the next day, then that had absolutely nothing to do with Tony either.

Nor with the fact that the former leader went to jail on numerous counts of neglect, abuse of power and assault/abuse of minors.

Tony wasn't even exactly sure how Steve found out, but somehow he did, and he made a guest appearance at the training facilities for the Young Avengers in full Captain America garb, looking like he was going to make it rain hellfire if the leader so much as scolded the young students.

Peter told Tony all about how Steve was there to "observe" the new leaders and had spoken a few select words to the main leader in private. When the leader went back inside he was so shaken up that he could barely give out any orders, all jittery and shaky in the knees. Tony could only laugh, not imagining Steve as the type to personally give a "talk" to whoever was in charge but it was a beautiful image if he was asked.

tinman: _Thanks for looking out for Peter, Steve._

il mio soldatino: _Believe me, it was my pleasure._

tinman: _Who told you?_

il mio soldatino: _I have my ways._

tinman: _ooh you're being mysterious? that's cute. I always loved it when you tried to be all broody and mysterious. It's sorta Bucky's thing though, no?_

il mio soldatino: _Ha-ha-ha. You're hilarious as always. How is he? I heard that he was injured._

Tony looked up from his phone. Peter was on the floor, trying to teach Taco how to jump, giggling as the puppy floundered around and tilted its head in confusion.

tinman: _He's doing a lot better, Cap._

il mio soldatino: _good! I'm glad :) And how about you, Tony? How are you?_

tinman: _I'm doing alright. How're you? How's the team?_

il mio soldatino: _The team's pretty much just bored. No missions recently. I can't deny how bored I am as well. Bucky sends his regards, by the way._

tinman: _Tell Buck I said hi. And as for the boredom, there's only one cure: p_ _lay Monopoly. Thank me later lol_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. I have something so much juicier in store but this was necessary to go from the last chapter to the one I have in mind. Ugh. Anyways, thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, if there are any mistakes blame Contests of Champions and my baby brother because I CANNOT LOSE. And because I cannot lose, I can also not completely focus on anything that isn't the game. Even this fic that is my baby and I love with all my heart. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves, y'all. -Andrew


	8. Sitting Here, Spinning Gears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve spends time thinking, we get insight into the broken relationship between the two heroes, and there is a promise.

Most of the team sat in the communal living room, playing different boardgames as per Steve's suggestions. Bruce and Rhodey were playing chess, staring at the board for long stretches of time before either of them made a single move. Thor was asleep on the floor beside them in a mess of limp limbs, having fallen asleep after trying to watch the two speak to themselves in low murmurs about rooks and knights and pawns. Clint, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda were playing a game of Monopoly, shouting at one another every few minutes and laughing like kids.

Steve sat on the floor, a sketchpad in his lap, working on his latest drawing of a familiar face with brown eyes wrinkled in laughter, lights shining behind Tony's face. Steve remembered that day at the amusement park with the team after Tony had rented it out, making sure that the day was for them and them alone. It was a couple years ago and Tony and Steve had been dating for a while.

Tony had convinced Steve to ride on the rollercoaster with him and Steve, in spite of the way his stomach lurched just at the thought of going, had agreed. The way that Tony's eyes brightened and he laughed the entire time that Steve sat uncomfortably next to him, hand tight around Tony's, had made the entire thing worth it. "You're horrible," Steve said with a shake of his head, smiling in spite of himself when Tony just grinned at him, unfazed by the ride.

"You thought that being Iron Man was easy? It was like 10 times worse than this at first, I thought I was trapped inside of a hurricane."

And Steve had only laughed and pulled him in for a kiss, uncaring for the way that Clint booed and threw a hotdog wrapper at them, smiling against Tony's lips as Tony melted in his hands.

Bucky sat beside Steve, watching him work without saying a word. It had taken a lot for Steve to convince him to leave the room- he'd called it "storing himself"- and that it would be okay, that Tony had forgiven him and that things would get better. After the outburst he'd had an emergency session with Dr. Ella Thompson, who had calmly spoken to him until he was no longer trembling and had felt safe enough to step out of Parade Rest, slipping down to his knees. She was a brilliant psychotherapist with experience in dealing with patients with severe trauma, anxiety, and depression. She knew what words to say, how to talk to him when the only words that would enter his mind were commands.

Steve had kept watch outside of the door, FRIDAY letting him view the footage from the Panic Room that Bucky went to when he was no longer himself in real time, watching the hair fall into Bucky's eyes and hearing Bucky's tone go monotonous and impersonal, robotic.

 _Am I decommissioned?_ he'd asked, eyes hollow, reverting back to the training he'd received as the Winter Soldier, not as the fighter and the assassin but as the broken soldier underneath, as the man who knew that to fail was to die, that to be unneeded was to be put down, that to be broken was to get a bullet in the head and an unmarked grave. His entire body had been wracked in violent trembles as he remained on his knees, head bowed, eyes kept on the floor like he was used to doing. The anger burned away like it was never there, leaving only hollowness and guilt and self-loathing.

At least this, he knew how to deal with. This, he was comfortable with. This was familiar. He knew self-loathing and guilt like it was something he'd been born with, and he felt safer in the knowledge that he was a level 1-1 threat and no longer 5-5. He was good. He was a good machine. 1-1 was good but 5-5's were put down.

He was bad but now he'd good. He can be good now.

He wasn't decommissioned.

Nobody would put him down even if he deserved it. Even if he was bad, he can have a second chance to be good. This was a good thing. This was called "trying better". Everyone made mistakes but everyone should be allowed to move on and try to be better than before.

Ella told him this and Bucky knew she wasn't lying because her eyes remained on his and her hands didn't twitch, stable as they rested atop his.

All in all, it took Ella three hours to help him de-escalate and to explain the next course of action.

They'd started him on an anti-anxiety medication to help him with his symptoms, a medication that Bruce had helped in making due to his extensive knowledge on both anxiety and the super-soldier serum which made medicating Bucky and Steve difficult. Steve couldn't even begin to describe the first surgery he'd undergone when he couldn't be put under anesthesia because the serum burned through it too fast.

"You son of a bitch!" Clint shouted at Sam, throwing a game piece at him as he lost Snakes and Ladders. "I swear to GOD you're cheating. You're doing something with the dice!"

Sam laughed, shaking his head. "I am not! You are!"

"You mean I'm _intentionally_ making myself lose?" Clint retorted, giving Sam an _are-you-kidding-me_ look, eyebrows drawn.

Bucky watched them all before he turned back to look at the drawing of Tony, watching Steve shade in the collarbones that peeked out of Tony's blank undershirt, a flannel shirt tied around his hips. Steve captured Tony's essence perfectly. Even if Bucky wasn't there for whenever the drawing came to life behind Steve's eyes, he could imagine Tony's smiling face as if he was. Steve had an amazing way of creating things that were so life-like and real that it made Bucky feel a little more real inside too.

"What? No!" Bruce yelled, looking down at the chessboard in horror as if he couldn't comprehend how he could have lost. Rhodey flashed him a winning grin, winking at him like a showman would wink at a viewer. Bucky couldn't help the small pull of his lips at the sight of the two geniuses bickering like they were the closest of friends.

There was something wonderful about being in the same room as a group of people doing different things, not having to interact but being included in the friendly atmosphere nonetheless.

He fiddled with the watch that Tony gave him, letting him have his own personal robot that he could talk to when talking to people with calculating eyes became too hard. It was a lady robot and Bucky named her Rebecca, even if he could only vaguely remember warmth and laughter when the name came to his mind. Somehow, it felt right to bestow the caring AI with such a name. Steve's face had gone sad when Bucky mentioned it as if he was remembering something that he knew Bucky didn't, but he'd kept silent on the matter.

Beyond the clear glass that let in light, Bucky could see the horizon that seemed endless, as if Bucky could walk forever and he'd never reach the end of the woods that surrounded the complex. A part of him wanted to get up, grab his bags and walk, just walk into the horizon until his body yelled at him to stop. He wanted to see how far he could go until someone told him to come back- if someone told him to come back. His handlers before often let him know precisely where to stand, how far to go, and he was always aware of the limits even if they weren't visible to anyone else.

His muzzle and black clothes that wrapped around his body like a straitjacket reminded him that no matter where he was, he wasn't free.

But now he wore a plain blue shirt and his mouth was free to speak- free enough that he'd gone and messed everything up with Tony- and he could walk away if he wanted to. Nobody would tell him he had to stay in one place.

Some days he just wished he could run and be free and not have to face anyone ever again. Go into a new city, get a new name that hadn't been tarnished by history and memories, and start over as a new person.

He met Natasha's eyes from across the room. _Is that why you do it?_ he wanted to ask her if he thought that she'd actually give him a response.

When he looked at Steve again, Steve was no longer drawing. Bucky wondered how much time had passed since he looked away. The drawing was finished, every detail added in to make Tony Stark look like Tony Stark. Steve was on his phone, clicking away at the screen, the sounds of texting reaching Bucky's ears. From the look on Steve's face, Bucky knew that Steve wasn't texting Tony. That left very few people who he might be talking to Steve via text.

Happy- Tony's driver.  
Pepper- Tony's ex and close friend.  
T'challa.

Oh.

"Am I going to be put back in cryo?" Bucky asked, watching as Steve's eyes darted up.

"No! Bucky," Steve told him. "Of course not. You're getting better. Slowly, sure, but you are. You can handle more time in other people's presence, you make your own choices now without being prompted, you're becoming the sassy moron from… before. You're getting better."

Bucky was silent for a long time, staring at the light glinting off of his metal arm, unmoving. "I'm going outside."

Steve watched him go with a heavy heart, looking back down at his conversation with T'challa.

Steve: _You want to come here? To the compound?_

T'challa: _Only briefly. I have a mission and will need a place to stay for a day or two. Is Tony Stark there?_

Steve: _No, actually, he's staying somewhere else for the time being._

T'challa: _That is greatly disappointing. I was hoping that Tony would be there._

Steve: _You know Tony?_

T'challa: _Of course. I met him for the first time when he stayed in Wakanda a few weeks before the signing of the Sokovian Accords, and then a few months after. He consulted with Shuri, who rather liked him, for a chemical concoction which I will not pretend to understand completely. He is a kind man and is generally liked amongst the Wakandans. It is a shame that he will not be there when I visit. He is a good man._

 _He is_ , Steve thought. _But most people didn't see it that way. So why do you?_

For the longest time, even Steve didn't see it that way. Steve had seen Tony's smile and thought 'arrogant', had seen his jesting nature and thought 'unmoved', had seen his calculating nature and thought 'cold'.

He was wrong on all accounts.

Tony's smile was fake, his jesting was a mask to hide his fear, his calculating nature was a defensive wall he threw up to keep from being hurt.

And Steve had hurt him, over and over again.

But apparently, a few weeks with T'challa and T'challa already saw Tony for the kind man he was.

Steve: _Sorry about that. I'll tell him you missed him._

T'challa: _Thank you._

Steve: _You're welcome._  
\--

The top floor of the compound was meant to be a garden, but nobody ever got around to actually planting things, leaving the floor barren, the ground open to the sky. Thor's floor was the one below, living on the 19th floor of the tower. Steve often enjoyed coming to the top floor after he'd returned home so he could think. The garden was not quite a garden but it gave him the same melancholy feeling as if it were, the steel swing creaking underneath him as he sat and watched the day turn into night.

Sometimes he took his painting supplies up here and painted until his fingers were covered in paint and his clothes were ruined and his eyes ached. Sometimes he took a book up here and curled up with a cup of tea.

But some days, like today, he could do nothing more than stare at the not-garden and think of the way that Tony had given him roses on their first anniversary. He'd think about the way that Tony's body melted against his when the nights were cold as if they were two people desperate for warmth, two people starved of affection, and they'd soaked up all the warmth and light from one another like sponges.

They had something good going, the type of beautiful love that made Steve smile even when he thought the world was ending. The type of pure and untainted love that was shared between two broken people who found someone whose puzzle pieces clicked with their own. Steve had loved Tony, and he knew that Tony loved him.

Well, mostly, he did.

When Steve started his quest to find Bucky, he couldn't help but notice how his bed suddenly got emptier and emptier as the days passed. And he couldn't deny the way that it stung every time that Tony told him he was going to work on some project or another and told Steve not to wait up for him. At the time, Steve had mistaken the distance for a lack of interest but now he could see it clearly. He knew now that it was only Tony's insecurity and fear of abandonment that drove him to create space between them so that if it were to end it wouldn't hurt too badly.

It was a defense mechanism, on Tony's part.

But at the time, Steve had spent countless nights in an empty bed in an empty room and he'd wondered what he was doing wrong, wondering if the billionaire's heart had been stolen by someone else. As he spent his nights tossing and turning, his mind brought him images of the men and women who walked through Tony's doors with a charming smile, a sharp mind, and no small amount of respect for the hero.

Even though it wasn't true, the seeds of doubt in his mind grew and festered until he was almost certain that he'd been replaced and that it was only so long until Tony told him it was over.

So he threw himself into finding Bucky, desperate for his old friend, desperate for someone familiar, desperate to have something to do.

And the rift between them grew from a crack to a gaping hole.

The things people said didn't help. The magazines and newspapers and articles didn't help.

"Did you see Tony with that guy tonight? They looked really cute together!"

"Tony Stark's Playboy Era: Is It Really Over?"

"Steve Rogers and Tony Stark not sighted together in over three months: is this a sign of a failing relationship between our two national heroes?"

So while Tony sat in his lab, thinking he was being replaced by Bucky, Steve sat in their empty bedroom thinking that Tony had moved on without him.

When Peggy died, Steve was a mess of grief and hopelessness and frustration. He and Tony couldn't spend more than a few hours together or they'd be snapping at one another, quips and verbal blows thrown at each other like arrows aimed to kill. Steve was a mess of anger and sadness and he knew that Tony was having a hard time too even if he didn't show it but that was the problem. Tony didn't show it. Steve didn't know how he could just _not_ show it. So he would push and prod until Tony did, telling himself he was trying to help Tony show emotions when the fact was that he just wanted someone to hurt _with_ him.

And under all that, he was terrified.

His relationship with Tony terrified him. He felt like a man lying underneath a guillotine, waiting for the blade to fall. Because Tony, although filled with vitality and big as life, was a mortal being. He had no serum in his veins that would make sure he would live, he had nothing to protect him except for the armor that he built into every piece of clothing possible, terrified of his own helplessness, terrified beyond terrified of things that Steve didn't see, didn't understand.

But Steve? Steve was just terrified, a raw type of fear that made sweat cover his entire body at night, the type of fear that he knew he couldn't run from. Because he didn't want to lose someone again.

He didn't want to shatter like that again.

So the rift between them grew a little wider, the sea of unspoken words became a little deeper.

One of their worst arguments since they started dating happened around that time. The tension was high, with the Accords and Peggy's death and all the time they had to spend apart due to missions and trying to find Bucky and Tony trying to calm the government down.

Steve was in a black mood when he walked into their room, sweat covering his face from the hours he spent punching away at the punching bag, uncaring about the rawness of his knuckles or the soreness in his arms. He was tired to the bone but sleep couldn't fix it because in his sleep all he saw was war and Peggy and everything he couldn't have.

Tony was huddled over the documents, his fingers pressed against his lips, looking up briefly before he turned back to the first draft of the Accords. "There's food in the fridge if you're hungry."

And Steve had stared at him for a few hard seconds, all the frustration sizzling and rushing forward in a flush of red-hot anger. "You're still reading that? It's not going to be good, Tony. I don't know why you bother."

Tony had looked up then, confusion written on his face like he thought that Steve was intentionally being dull. One of Tony's problems was that he'd always forget that not everyone saw the same unfolding of universes in front of their eyes like he did. "Of course it'll be good, I just have to work on it. After that, it should be more palatable."

"Of course you're more focused on this damn thing than anything else," Steve murmured under his breath but Tony heard him, his expression going hard before he schooled it into a vacant look.

"Excuse me?" Tony set the pen in his hands down, placing both of his feet on the floor and looking at Steve like he was preparing to choose fight or flight.

Steve stepped forward, his left hand clenching into a fist. _You pay more attention to this than to us. Tony, please. Tony, I need you._

But those words weren't the words that left his traitorous mouth. "Did she mean anything to you? Do I? Because it sure doesn't seem like it! You're always _busy_. With these stupid documents, with some meeting or another, with something else that isn't _us_. With something else that isn't important. Jesus Christ, you're impossible to deal with!"

He saw the hurt flash across Tony's face but he only felt a sick sense of pleasure when he saw it. Tony shook his head, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "You're a dick, you know that? Ever since you got wind that your Bucky was alive, I swear to god you've changed."

"Me? I've changed?" Thunder roared outside the window, rain pelting against the window like bullets. "What about you? You're always gone! I want to talk, you're busy. I want to spend time together, you're busy. I have to grovel just to get a few minutes with you!"

Tony stepped forward then, unable to keep the rage from spilling into his own eyes. "You're the one that spends weeks at a time away! Every week or two, you go and chase some new lead across the country and you don't come back for weeks."

"Because you're never here!"

Another roll of thunder, louder than the last.

Tony stood up, his arms crossed over his chest, defensive. "Why is everything my fault, Steve?" he asked, voice low, but in the silence of the room, it was almost as if he'd shouted it. "What more do you want from me?"

Steve didn't answer the question because he didn't have an answer, simply grabbing the stack of documents from the desk and waving it in the air. "Why is this more important to you than me?"

Desperation laced Tony's tone as he yanked the files from Steve's fingers, the papers crumpling as he tossed them down onto the desk, "I'm trying to protect you! Protect them! I just-" He let out a loud sigh, looking away briefly to compose himself before he turned his eyes back to Steve's. "I'm doing this to protect you, Steve. I just want to do something right for once. Please. Just sign it."

And Steve looked down at the files between them, a mess of sheets and documents spread over the table.

"I don't want you to protect me, Tony. I want _you_ ," he responded, eyes aflame with a mixture of pain and anger. "But you've shut me out and I don't know why. I just… I don't want to lose you but for god's sake, I'm starting to understand why Pepper left."

The moment the words left his lips he wished he could take them back. The walls that Tony had to keep himself from getting hurt slammed down suddenly like the broken blinds on the window of an abandoned house, his entire body tensing as if he'd received a physical blow.

"Tony-" Steve began, raising his hands placatingly.

"Fuck you," Tony hissed, his hands clenching into fists as his eyes filled with tears. Steve blanched at the sight of them, wishing he could turn back time and give himself a good slap in the face. "I'm trying my fucking best, Rogers. I'm trying my _best_. And what are you doing? Running off and trying to find your assassin buddy? Is that putting me first? Is that the _right_ thing to do?"

Steve snapped into defensive mode. "Leave Bucky out of this."

Tony stalked forward until they were only a foot away from each other. "Or what, Cap? You'll punch me? Go ahead, big shot, take a fucking swing."

Steve scoffed, shaking his head and pushing Tony back. "You're pathetic." He turned around and began walking away, unable to keep going with the conversation, too upset to keep a level head. "Howard would be fucking disappointed in you."

"Oh please, Howard was always disappointed in me. Even the way I breathed was wrong to him," Tony retorted, scoffing. "But you tell me: would Sarah be proud of you?"

Verbal blows.

That's what it was: they were using their words to try and aim for weaknesses.

Within seconds they were shouting in each other's faces, hands waving in the air, shouting without hearing, speaking without really saying anything. Noise. All they were doing was making noise and trying to make the other hurt like they'd been hurt.

"If you fucking loved me, you'd stay!" Tony shouted, stalking away to their lounge and leaving Steve with his chest rising and falling unsteadily in a suddenly empty room.

He winced at the sound of plates shattering against the wall, staring at the picture frame on the wall as it trembled. He let out a sigh, his ears ringing from the sounds of Tony's guttural screaming in the room next door. He sounded like a cornered and wounded animal, screaming with everything in him so that the universe could hear him and help.

Or run.

_What's happening to us?_

Later that night Tony and he laid on the same bed but somehow the room still felt unbearably cold. In spite of the way the voice in the back of his head whispered at him to turn around and wrap himself around Tony, Steve couldn't bring himself to.

He couldn't face Tony's bruised knuckles or the red-rimmed eyes that would inevitably stare back at him.

_I love you, Tony. I love you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

Finding Bucky was the straw that broke the camel's back. And sure, Steve knew that he'd made mistakes- hell, he'd made plenty. He knew he should have trusted Tony more. He knew that he should have told Tony about his parents. And he knew that he shouldn't have run off without saying goodbye.

And he knew that he should have never lifted his hand to smash it down against Tony's body. That day still haunted Steve's dreams, slithering around his mind like serpents, wrapping around his throat until he was suffocating. He still remembered the red that stained his raw knuckles and the way that Tony looked at him with horror and shock and, worst of all, resignation. As if he'd just resigned himself to the despair, had known that at some point this would happen again.

Tony's brown eyes were red-rimmed when Steve tore the mask off.

It was like looking at someone right after pushing them off of a cliff, the look of complete betrayal as they fell, the look as they braced for impact.

Steve had put that on Tony's face after he'd promised that he'd never put his hands on Tony's body if it was to hurt. He'd promised he wouldn't be like the others who'd done the same thing, who'd used up all of Tony's brilliance and then discarded him like he was worth less than garbage. He promised that he would never be the cause of Tony's heartbreak because Tony'd endured enough.

But he had.

There was a moment of stillness in that bunker as he and Tony just stared at each other, unable to move. It felt like an eternity stretched out as Steve saw the shards of Tony's heart lying at his feet, witnessed his soul being emptied out right in front of Steve, dripping blood all over the concrete floor between them. In that one moment, he could see the tapestry of scars that littered the insides of Tony's heart and Steve felt like he couldn't breathe, his guts yelling at him to run.

He was afraid.

He didn't want to face what he'd done, he didn't want to accept that he'd done something that he'd always judged people for doing.

He never understood why people would take a hand to their lover.

But Tony was giving him a defeated look, calling his name, blood dribbling down his chin, splattered all over his bruised face. The same blood was staining Steve's knuckles and boots.

So Steve ran.

He'd never had the need to run before.

But he ran.

And he didn't look back because if he looked back he was afraid that it would be real, that Tony would really be there with the look of someone who realized that all the stars had fallen from the sky and that the end of an era was here.

tinman: _[tinman sent an image] hey capsicle. I saw this earlier and remembered you._

Steve blinked, snapped out of his reverie by the message. He opened the image, laughing when he saw the American-flag-themed toy of some sort.

il mio soldatino: _What is that?_

tinman: _you're serious??? It's a fidget spinner. It's blown up everywhere! Peter found it so I bought you one. I'll send it in the mail so we can both pretend we're from the 1800's. I do try to make you as comfortable with the transition from your century to this one._

il mio soldatino: _I'm not that old. And I've been alive for years now._

tinman: _Suuuure_.

il mio soldatino: _Oh and by the way, I talked to T'challa. He'll be staying at the compound for a few days. I didn't know how many friends you made with the Wakandans._

tinman: _Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of being decent for short bursts of time every so often._

_I know, Tony. The problem is that you always act like you're a dragon when you're the one always burning like a phoenix._

il mio soldatino: _I wish you would stop pretending you're not decent_.

tinman: _[tinman sent an image]_

Steve clicked open the gif of a green-eyed man that Steve found vaguely familiar saying "bite me". In spite of the message, he couldn't suppress the smile from pulling at his lips.

il mio soldatino: _What're you doing?_

tinman: _I'm in a meeting._

il mio soldatino: _Why are you texting in the middle of a meeting?_

tinman: _tables were created to text under, cap, relax._

il mio soldatino: _What's the meeting about?_

tinman: _Wizard man with a magic rock. The government's trying to decipher if he's Avenger-material or if he should be registered as an enhanced individual so he can have more rights and they can be sure of his threat level._

Oh.

_Of course._

The Accords.

The documents that Steve had hated for so many reasons. He hated how it would mean putting all the control into the hands of people who may or may not be trustworthy. He hated the feeling that he was something that needed taming and controlling. He hated how Tony supported it whole-heartedly without thinking about repercussions.

He hated how Tony spent day and night working on revising and fixing it, how he seemed to care more about the godforsaken documents more than he cared about the fact that he and Steve stood on two opposing sides on the matter.

A small part of Steve hated it because Tony worked on it so much that the empty bed became an empty tower.

A big part of Steve knew that he was being selfish and needy but he couldn't help it.

il mio soldatino: _Wizard man? As in, a magical individual. Actual magic?_

tinman: _Sure seems like it. Shoot, gotta go. Sorry._

Steve let out a sigh and pocketed the phone, walking aimlessly around the compound until his feet brought him to the communal floor again.

"You look horrible," Bucky told him when Steve entered the empty theater room that Bucky used to read in peace, knowing that most of the others didn't come here often unless it was pre-arranged. Steve gave him a small smile, pushing his legs out of the way to curl up on the couch beside him. "Have you showered today?"

Steve shut his eyes, leaning his head back and trying to ignore the pulsing behind his eyes. "Do you ever feel like the world's not our own anymore, Buck?"

Bucky was silent. He knew the feeling well, of course, he knew it intimately. He knew it from the moment he had a weapon placed into his hands and told his mission, told to stand with his back straight like there was only steel underneath his flesh. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just thinking."

Bucky frowned. "That's not a good thing for you, ever."

Steve huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just wish things were simpler. Yet here I am."

"Is this about you and Tony?"

"No," Steve responded immediately before he squinted. "No and yes. But not really. It's more about _me_. Me and my own messed up feelings and the fact that I was born from the flames of war to save people and yet here I am in a world where there aren't any wars for me to fight but there are still too many people who need saving. And even though the war happened decades ago, to me it's not that long ago and I can still feel the war in my veins and if I stop thinking for long enough, I can almost convince myself that if I open my eyes it's the 40's again and everything was a weird dream."

Bucky listened to him silently, placing a hand on his shoulder and pulling him close. "Sometimes when I close my eyes all I see is dark rooms. It will fade, in time. That's what Ella told me anyway."

Steve sighed. "I don't even know who I am half the time. Everyone else made the distinction between themselves and their superhero persona but I never did that. I never thought far in the future enough to believe that I'd need to. Steve Rogers and Captain America became synonymous at some point and I- I don't know what to do. I mean, I always thought everyone expected me to be Captain America 24/7 but now that I've thought about it I think I spent too much time being Cap that I don't really know how to be me anymore."

"I understand," Bucky told him, an arm wrapped around Steve's shoulders just like when they were teenagers living in a frigid apartment complex, snuggling close for comfort and warmth during winter in an apartment that had no functioning heater system. "You're Steve and I'm Bucky. You're a little shit who doesn't know how to care for himself and I'm the sucker who has to deal with you."

Steve let himself sink further into Bucky's embrace. "I wish I could wake up and everything made sense."

Bucky ran fingers through Steve's hair, nodding. He was okay. This was okay.

He was a 1-1 and Steve was a 1-1.

They were okay.

Steve needed him and Bucky's job was to provide comfort and care. Just like before. Before he was the Winter Soldier and he was just Bucky Barnes.

He was Bucky Barnes now.

Things were okay.

"So do I, Steve," Bucky responded like a dearly-kept secret, letting out a sigh, letting his fingers keep raking through Steve's locks.

Things would be okay.

\--

Rhodey sighed, a pulsing behind his eyes telling him that he'd been at the desk for too long. His back ached and the stack of paperwork was still too damn high.

How did Tony do this?

Oh, that's right. He _didn't_.

The bastard didn't have to do the paperwork because at this point nobody really expected him to actually physically do the paperwork. Sure, he showed up to meetings. And he answered e-mails if he was in the mood. But paperwork?

Hah.

That would be the day.

He let out a loud sigh, telling Friday to give Tony a call so he could check in on the wonder boy. Within seconds, the wall showed Tony's video footage, revealing a disheveled and bleary-eyed Tony. He squinted at the screen, frowning. "Rhodey? What the hell are you doing, calling me at 7 am? It's too early for human communication."

"You slept?" Rhodey asked, unable to keep the surprise from seeping into his voice. He'd fully expected to see Tony working on some project or in the car with Peter, not freshly-woken from sleep.

Tony sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, every once in a while I do have to sleep. Shocker, I know."

"Well, listen, I just had to ask you about letting Clint continually skip doing paperwork after receiving injuries. I mean, SHIELD is pretty much over him and his refusal to fill it out and at this point, only you or I can get him to do it."

"You're asking me if I think it's worth it to hound him for paperwork?" Tony asked, his lips turning up. "No, absolutely not. Let him keep skipping it like almost all of us do. You, Cap, and Bruce are the only ones who actually do it."

Rhodey let his head fall against the desk. "You're telling me this after months and months of me doing paperwork? Nobody else was doing it all this time?"

"I thought you just liked doing it," Tony responded with a small shrug. "What's going on there?"

Rhodey yawned, "I don't know. Bruce is still in his lab after a bet with Thor about being able to recreate his magic hammer. Cap is in the gym, punching at punching bags at the asscrack of dawn, as you do. Bucky's still in the empty theater, reading, staying away from everyone else. And… hmm… Vision tried to bake a cake yesterday and the kitchen is still a disaster, so there's that. Other than that, everything's pretty much the usual. Loki's leaving tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know," Tony responded. "He came here to tell me."

"He went there to tell you?" Rhodey repeated, his eyebrows drawing together. "How did he know where you are? None of the others do."

The video feed of Tony jerked suddenly and for a few seconds all Rhodey saw was Tony's forehead before it zoomed back out. Tony was holding the camera in his hands as he walked to the lab, eyes shifty. "Listen. I told him, okay? You can't let Steve know that you know that Loki knows where I am. He just stopped by, we had some tea, he talked about his plans for tomorrow and I gave him some tech to keep in touch."

"That's pretty nice of you," Rhodey said, scratching the back of his head with his pen. "I'm sure he'll appreciate that."

"Rhodey," Tony said, his tone pleading, eyes begging.

Rhodey sighed. "Alright, alright. I won't let Steve know about your tea-time with Loki. Just…"

"I'll let you know if I plan on doing anything stupid, Honeybear. Don't worry so much. And plus, I'm not going tomorrow. I'm pretty sure I'm not, anyway," Tony rambled, "I mean, if life were to suddenly give me an incentive to go and I was standing there and he was going to climb aboard a gigantic spaceship that takes him to a problem-free planet, I might _consider_ it. But I am fairly certain that I won't actually go. 88 percent sure."

12 percent unsure. Rhodey could deal with that.

"Alright."

Tony grinned. "Alright?"

"Yeah, we're alright," Rhodey said, giving Tony an exasperated half-smile back.

"Good! Good, because I really need your help with an equation-"

\---

il mio soldatino: _Hey, I tried talking to your YINSEN bot. He's really good at what he does. I also spoke to the newest one. KENNER? The KENNER bot? He sounds a bit young. Is he meant to be a kid?_

tinman: _Yeah, he's a kid._

il mio soldatino: _Who is he?_

tinman: _Some kid who reminded me that I was a human being and not just a suit. The kid kept me going when I was having a tough time with anxiety- around the time that my panic attacks started. He was a good kid._

il mio soldatino: _Was? Past tense? Do you still have contact with him?_

tinman: _No I do not. Change topics. How have you been tonight?_

il mio soldatino: …

il mio soldatino: _I've been good._

tinman: _good_.

il mio soldatino: _Yeah. You?_

tinman: _I've been good._

il mio soldatino: _Good_.

tinman: _Yeah_.

tinman: _I've gotta go. Sorry. Bye._

\---

There were certain things that Steve learned about Tony from others and certain perspectives that they gave him of Tony. They gave him shards of the image that they saw of Tony and Steve would use all of them to stitch together a picture of his secretive lover.

Natasha, for example, told Steve about the files in the database about Howard Stark, a fine man in his line of work but a dark shadow once he crossed the threshold of his home, turning from a successful scientist to a man in a failing marriage. She told Steve about the reports of doctor visits, hospitalizations, injuries sustained in questionable circumstances that were reported in by school nurses but were silenced by Stark's people. She told him about the horrible image that the Stark household painted, from the prodigal but misplaced son to the alcoholic and unsatisfied father to the depressed and listless mother.

When Steve found the box under a floorboard on floor 9 of the old tower though, he learned a lot more about Tony that he'd planned. Inside of a shoebox that looked ages old, Steve found old pictures and diaries, all of them proving the disturbing reality that Tony lived with his father.

"Jarvis told me that writing in a journal might help me "process my emotions" so I'm writing here right now. I don't know what emotions he wants me to process. I just wish I could disappear."

"He got drunk today and had another one of his fits. I tried not to cry because he always yells at me for crying but I was just so scared that I couldn't help it. Jarvis comforted me after but I just wish that someone other than him remembered it was my birthday."

"I just really wanna leave this place."

"I don't wanna do this anymore."

"I'm scared."

"Wow, I found this old scrap of depressing memories. It was hidden under a heap of machine parts, so I guess I forgot all about it. I'm trying to build a robot. I think I'll name it Dummy because Howard always calls me that. Except I'll prove that Dummy isn't useless. I just sorta want a friend, I guess? Anyways, I think I'm too old for having a diary, so I think this is it. Thanks for being with me through all the shit I went through. This is Tony Edward Stark, aged 15, saying goodbye."

When Steve finished reading the entire journal, he'd wrapped himself around Tony and refused to let go, his tears staining Tony's neck as he tried to remember that those words were written years ago. Tony was here. Tony was alive.

Tony was here.

But Tony went through all that pain, alone, and that meant he still carried that with him.

Just like Steve carried his father's memory inside of him.

And there were other things that Steve learned from the others. He learned from Bruce that Tony didn't like to look at someone's past to judge them because he thought of himself as no better than others, that he still held himself accountable for the things he'd done as a young and impressionable man under the puppeteering of Stane. Bruce told him about Tony's feeling that he was tainted, that the lives taken with Stark weapons were on his hands and his hands alone.

"He always talks about these things like he's still doing it," Bruce told him, fiddling with a machine that Steve didn't understand. "He's running on fear, Steve. He's trying to protect people but he's coming apart at the seams."

Bruce told Steve about the desperate urge to protect everyone that made Tony restless and uneasy until he could find some type of solution to minimize collateral damage.

(Something like the Accords.)

He told Steve about the way that Tony seemed to have a penchant for gardening and planting, which Bruce had learned after they needed to experiment on a plant that could, theoretically, survive radiation. It failed but Bruce had seen the way that Tony seemed to love taking care of a plant, spending time just murmuring to it and singing soft lullabies under his breath when Bruce was across the room.

(Steve wondered what it meant now that the garden was barren.)

And Clint? Clint was the one to tell Steve that the Tony when he was around Steve was different than the Tony when he was around anyone else. He'd told Steve that Tony obviously liked him a helluva lot more in _that_ way compared to everyone else, that Tony seemed to crave Steve's approval and friendship like a lost child seeking love. He told Steve about the way that Tony was friends with everyone but nobody could make Tony come to life quite like Steve had managed to without knowing it.

And Steve hadn't even noticed before that point, but after it was brought to his attention he saw it and didn't know how he hadn't seen it before then.

So if Steve was going to honest, he sorta owed the entire relationship to Clint for making him see things from a new perspective. Clint had been the one to convince Steve to ask Tony out to dinner. Since then, things just progressed naturally, from their first date to their first kiss to their first night laying together.

"Listen, Steve," Clint had said to Steve only a few weeks ago, looking at Steve uncertainly. "I've lost my wife and kids. I told my kids that their Daddy's home, I'm retired, I mean it this time. I told myself that maybe I could keep on going back and forth between being an agent and being retired-" he shook his head, sighing. "Just try to make things work with Tony, alright? I always thought I could refuse to choose for just a little bit longer but then the choice was made for me. So you should choose between staying or going when it comes to Tony. He won't be there forever. Nobody ever is."

And Steve, who was running on borrowed time, could only stand there because he _knew_ nothing was forever. Everything had changed since he fell into the ice. He knew nothing lasted forever.

But for some reason, his mind refused to believe that Tony Stark wasn't one of the exceptions to the rule. Tony Stark was something so superior to life that Steve occasionally forgot that he wasn't capable of being unaffected by everything life threw at him. Sometimes he forgot that Tony wasn't infallible, wasn't invincible, wasn't immortal.

Next to Tony, Steve always felt humbled.

What was an experiment next to a scientist?

Steve Rogers compared to the legend Tony Stark?

"Promise me, Steve," Clint prodded when Steve didn't respond immediately.

"I promise."

Some of the things Steve learned from the others were more recent.

Two new things he learned about Tony were from Rhodey and Thor.

Thor told Steve that Loki had offered to take Tony to Sakaar and Steve's stomach dropped when he heard the news. He put down his mug to keep his shaking hands from dropping it. Thor continued talking like he didn't know that he'd just ripped the carpet out from under Steve's feet. If Tony went, Steve wouldn't be able to follow. If Tony went, that would put a close to a book that Steve was still trying desperately to continue and that would be the end of them. If Tony went, Steve didn't know what he'd do.

All he wanted was for Tony to stay. He wanted time. He wanted time to take away the pain so they could both actually step forward and maybe decide together what they wanted to do. 

But he had no right to say that to Tony because he'd already asked for enough. He didn't know when Tony would tell him 'no, stop, I've given enough' but he didn't want to keep pushing to hear it. He didn't know when Tony would finally draw the line but he didn't want to reach that point. All he wanted was to keep Tony beside him but if that wasn't what Tony wanted anymore, it wasn't his right anymore to beg for Tony to change his mind.

So he remained silent, keeping his bleeding soul pressed tight to his chest, hiding it away from everyone else.

And Rhodey told Steve about Peter Parker. He told Steve that Peter was Tony's kid now in everything but blood, about how the kid loved Tony and how Tony loved the kid, about how the two idiots would die for each other because they were both self-sacrificing morons (Rhodey's words, not Steve's). He told Steve "against his better judgment" about how Tony would put everything aside for the kid and that included Steve.

A few other things he learned through inference was:

  * When Tony had nobody, he had Peter.
  * Tony was fiercely protective of Peter because he was scared that Peter would end up like him.
  * Peter's suffered through abuse before.
  * Peter was one of the biggest sources of comfort and hope for Tony while he was recovering from Steve. 
  * Tony still missed Steve- implied because Rhodey's words were "I don't know why, but he'll probably come back here. The moron can't stay away."



Before Rhodey left, he looked at Steve and sighed. "Don't… fuck this up, okay? You're on your last leg. Just… don't hurt him again. Everything should fall into place after that."

Steve stared after him long after he was gone, trying to place the pieces of information into his knowledge of Tony, managing to see a clear image of his sorta-partner sorta-ex for the first time in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The threat level that Bucky repeatedly mentions is one that I've seen used before. 1-1 means level one flight risk and level one threat risk (to self or others). It goes higher up the more dangerous you are or the more likely you are to do a runner on everyone. Just so everyone's on the same page as him. 
> 
> Also, I hope this provided some more angles to view their broken relationship from because there are two perspectives to everything. This is Steve's. 
> 
> Sorry I posted a day late, I got behind on writing because of my birthday and enrolling in school and whatnot.


	9. We're Like A Stolen Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Halloween and with May's death anniversary approaching, Tony knows that he has to keep Peter's mood up through any means necessary. The solution? A lavish Halloween party in the compound with the Avengers and Ned. 
> 
> Texts are sent, Harry Potter is taken as seriously by three nerds, and Clint Barton is placed in a house.

Tony watched Peter walk out of the door with a pensive look, considering his plan for the holidays. Halloween was coming up soon, which was something that Peter was excited about even if he tried to act cool about it, so Tony had to make it the biggest celebration possible. With May's death anniversary coming up… They had to stay as positive as humanly possible to make sure that Peter wasn't going to go down a downward spiral again.

The last time had been too much already and the memories still seared Tony's mind. When it was night and he was alone, he couldn't help but think about how much Peter had acted like Tony when he'd lost his parents. Peter was a mess, eyes haunted and empty and desperate like a boy screaming to be saved as he was tossed around the ruthless currents of his mind.

Peter, in his own little way, was broken. His eyes reflected the icy waves crashing against the deserted beach, where the souls of all the ones he'd lost would live forever. Sometimes he still had that look in his eyes, as if he were a ghost that was stuck between two worlds, trying to find his footing even as everything spun out of control, caught in a hurricane that had him trapped in the middle.

After months, Peter had slowly lost the empty look in his eyes, the one that made him seem lost and afraid inside of his own home. He spoke more, he was more open to being around Tony and seemed to have gotten over his fear of losing the only adult he had left in his life as well.

But Tony knew how recovery and grieving worked and knew that there would be times when one would slip and fall back into the grief and pain. Death anniversaries were one of those times.

After a few minutes of deliberation, he clicked on his phone.

tinman: _Halloween is coming up and listen, everyone has to be there and be in a costume. There are no excuses that will be accepted. No costume or attendance= cancellation of the Avengers membership and a cold gray room on the other side of the world._

tinman: _That was a joke, by the way. Partly. The first part is true but the second part is not._

tinman: _This is important, Steven. I'll be coming back to the compound that day but if the compound isn't prepared for the most festive fucking Halloween, I'm setting it on fire._

il mio soldatino: _Isn't that a bit extreme?_

tinman: _No_.

They'd been exchanging texts for a month now, a few texts every day, from the small talk in the mornings to the deeper conversations at night. This was easier, after all, to hide behind a screen when one was unraveling their emotions and talking about their unmet needs and crippling issues- both together and individually.

So Tony would say: _I wish my father loved me more, I want to make my mom proud, I hate the feeling that I'm running and running but I could never outrun the dangers that are coming._

And Steve would reply: _I wish I wasn't Captain America, I hate that I'm running on borrowed time and I don't even know what I'm doing with it, I want to go home and everything hurts and I wish I never woke up._

And they'd go on and on, talking about deeper and more painful topics in between the humor and lighthearted exchanges. Some days it would just be a simple check-in with one another, but other days it was more, cracking open the tension them a bit more, the ocean of unspoken words feeling a little less engulfing as the days passed. There was still a lot to talk about but Tony started to feel like maybe there was hope in the horizon.

tinman: _Okay, so here's the sitch- Peter's aunt died in December so I want to make Halloween as festive as possible so that he doesn't go down that dark place in his mind. Steve. Please._

il mio soldatino: _You can rely on me, Tony._

tinman: _[image sent by tinman] Good boy. Have a selfie._

\--

"Okay, so I know for sure that I'm a Gryffindor. You're definitely one too, I think," Peter said, looking at Mr. Stark as he held out two sets of robes and ties, eyeing Mr. Stark and trying to decide if Mr. Stark was Gryffindor material or not.

Tony gave him a look, walking forward and running his fingers over the lapel of the robes. He wasn't brave. Not really.

He was afraid of too many things to be considered brave.

He'd been afraid for too long, in fact.

And he didn't want to be remembered as just 'brave'. Brave people were soldiers, warriors, and others who burned bright and died young. Brave people were people who suffered and endured and then made it to the other side with a smile. Brave people were people who spoke out against the roar of the crowd and refused to be silenced by a system that refused to heed them and their words.

Tony was not _brave_.

Being a hero took guts- that was true.

But he also learned that it took brains and heart too. And that's what made him into a hero. It was not his bravery that made him into Iron Man, but his intelligence and care for the well-being of the burning universe he just so happened to love.

"This one," he said, pulling out the blue and silver one. "Ravenclaw. I… I think I'm this one. Intelligence and creativity, right?"

Peter put down the red robe, nodding thoughtfully as he pulled out his phone to send Ned a text. "Yeah, Ravenclaw's the smart house."

Tony gave him a smile. "Well, can't get much more creative than a guy who makes a suit from a box of scraps, right? I mean- if you can also take into consideration my occasional strokes of genius while sleep deprived and under the influence, I would consider myself intelligent as well." The tie was smooth against the tips of his fingers and he met Peter's surprised look with a wink. "I did my research."

"Ravenclaw… it fits," Peter said, putting on his Gryffindor robes over his vest and slacks that he'd last used for the conference thing that he'd attended with Mr. Stark and the Avengers (which had ended in a sudden vacation that meant he could swim every day after school and hang out with Mr. Stark in a private lab so it was pretty sweet). "What do you think the others will be?"

Tony hummed, putting on his tie and looking in the mirror. "Bruce is definitely a Ravenclaw. Rhodey's a Ravenclaw too or a Hufflepuff. Natasha's… Slytherin. So is Clint, I think. Steve's ass is Gryffindor all the way, so is Thor. Loki's Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Bucky's Hufflepuff 100 percent."

Peter pocketed his phone and grabbed the bag of extra ties that they'd bought for everyone else. "Are we going to be late? Should we go now? What if we're late?"

"Kid," Tony said with a small chuckle, "You never want to be early to a party. Believe me, fashionably late is way better. People think you're cool and not dying of anxiety. It's like magic."

Peter laughed, looking at Mr. Stark as he adjusted the glasses on his face. "Quite funny you should use the word 'magic' while you're wearing a Hogwarts robe, sir. It's quite Iron-ic. Irony Man."

Tony rolled his eyes and ruffled Peter's hair fondly. "Come on, Underoos, let's go. If you make one more pun out of my superhero persona, I might just retire early."

"Iron- know if that's a good idea, sir. The people need you to help de-crease all the _pressing_ crime."

 _I will not laugh_ , Tony thought determinedly but he was unable to suppress the small quirk of his lips.

He kept walking, letting his cloak swish behind him as he walked, finally understanding why Thor and Loki seemed to love capes so much in spite of their impractical nature. He fished out his phone from his jeans pocket- a somewhat hard deed while wearing a robe, apparently- to tune out the barrage of puns at his ego.

tinman: _We're coming. Is the compound set?_

il mio soldatino: _Yes. The compound is ready for inbound._

tinman: _Good. ETA 20 minutes._

Tony pocketed the phone again, meeting Peter's eyes as Peter buckled himself in. "Are we ready?"

"Yes, sir!" Peter responded, and Tony gave him a soft grin, clicking on his music and letting Metallica rip through the speakers. He peeled out of the garage, driving moderately slow- for his usual speed- to buy themselves some time on the road.

Tony clicked on autopilot, leaning back and watching the road. "So Peter," he began, "How do you feel about moving back to the compound indefinitely?"

Peter shrugged. "I like it there. I liked the mansion too, but I knew the compound first and… It feels a little bit more like home, I guess. It was the first home I got used to when I came to live with you and I sorta associate those memories with the place. I like both of the places, of course, but the compound is my favorite because it feels more alive and it's closer to the city. I'm glad we're going back. And plus, I accidentally left my science notebook there so it'll be good to have that back."

"You left your science notebook? Why didn't you tell Happy? He could've gotten it for you in like half an hour. 20 minutes if he's had caffeine that morning."

Peter shrugged and picked at the Hogwarts logo on his chest. "I just copied the notes from Ned."

They drove on in silence for a bit longer before Peter broke it. "Why did you create Stark Industries?"

Tony exhaled softly, unsure of how to explain the progress of events which led to him trying to throw his money at his guilt.

"You know, when I was a young man, I used to want to be an engineer and _just_ an engineer. I just wanted to make programs, AI's, robots, the like. I never imagined that I'd end up making half of what I'd made. I was one of those- you know those gifted kids? I thought I'd be one of those that they call prodigies in their youth and then when they grow up they burn out and just don't know what to do so they end up working in retail. I thought that'd be me."

He was the type of gutter punk that drank too much and too soon to try and erase the stain of grief on his soul, letting the moonlight pool around his collarbones and laughing emptily as the music made his heart pound along to the beat of the drums. Tony had gone on benders when he was 16 and loved too easily and forgave too fast. It was why he'd gotten hurt: he didn't know when to set the limits and when to stop.

He was a hurricane with a heart as flammable as parchment and bones as brittle as centuries-old cement.

"It would have been if dear old dad wasn't rich. I'm lucky. Not many are. That's why I have the Stark Internship Program. For young and poor folks to have a place to go, so that the genius in them never withers."

He was the most chaotic of people, burning bright as a star even if nobody knew he was burning out. It wasn't until he crashed the car that the people around him realized how bad things were. It had taken a near-death experience for him to realize that hurting himself would only hurt himself and if he didn't save himself nobody will.

Peter listened intently, sadness filling his eyes. "Why did you think you'd burn out?"

_I was being pumped for my brain juice._

_My worth was based solely on my ability to perform._

_I just wanted him to be proud and that came at any cost to myself._

"It was hard," Tony settled for, rubbing the side of his head. "I was too young and unprepared to be shoved into the world of educated and cold adults."

"Oh," Peter said, bouncing his knee as he stared out the window.

Tony looked up and rolled his eyes. Emotions- _ew_. "It's not that big of a deal anymore. I am hashtag over it, as the youth say."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I should have never taught you how to use hashtags. It's intolerable."

"So are the puns on my name- my superhero name, no less! I save people with that name! You hold nothing sacred, kid. Typical punk kid," Tony said with a grin, "Just like I was."

Peter traced patterns on the fog of the window, drawing webs and spiders on the glass. "What was the worst thing you ever did as a teenager?"

 _Exist_ , according to daddy dearest.

"Might be the time I put a smoke bomb in the neighbor's mailbox. I had justified reasons, of course- if intoxication counts as a valid reason, anyway." That was one of the more interesting points in Tony's life. He'd loved getting petty revenge on the old guy who would sit at his porch all day and just throw insults towards everyone who crossed his path, generally trying to be as big of a dick as possible to every young person who walked past. The day he crossed Tony's friend though, that was the day that Tony decided that he _hated_ the guy. So he waited. And when he got the chance, he struck.

And Howard had struck him too but he wasn't able to wipe the triumphant hum in Tony's heart. Not even the blood running down the back of his throat had made him pause and rethink his actions because he might not have been able to defend Trina, but he goddamn _avenged_ her and that was all that mattered.

Tony should have known from early on he was going to be a godforsaken hero. Not because he was a good person or even a brave person, but because he grinned with his teeth colored crimson because he knew he was doing the right thing, giving light and never telling the ones his light shined on that the light came from his burning soul.

People called him a legend.

Legends rarely got a good ending though. Jarvis used to sit with him in the library and tell him about the Greek and Norse legends, telling him about battles which ended in pain and tales which ended in despair.

Achilles died from an arrow to the heel after losing his beloved Patroclus.

Hercules killed his entire family after being driven mad by Hera.

Icarus plummeted after his wings were burned by the sun and he fell, wingless and helpless, into the dark depths of Poseidon's kingdom.

So what did that mean for Tony, who was running on borrowed time, who had already borne too much pain for his soul to carry? What more did the universe have in store for him?

When would his story go from an epic tale to a tragedy?

"I was suspended once for fighting in elementary school," Peter said, and Tony turned to look at him.

"You?" Tony repeated, feeling incredulous that Peter All-Nighter Parker had gotten suspended for _fighting_. "Why'd you get into a fight?"

Peter didn't face him, his fingers still pressing against the foggy glass. "Some kid wouldn't stop picking on Serena- that was my friend in third grade, by the way. I told him to stop, he punched me, and then we ended up in a fight."

_Oh, of course._

"The teacher didn't do anything, so I did," Peter continued softly. His fingers twitched and clenched around his robes, and Tony sighed at the obvious tell that he always saw from Peter when the kid was nervous.

When Peter was nervous about what _Tony_ thought.

Tony said what Howard never said to him: "I'm proud of you. You did a good job."

Peter's eyes darted to his. "You are?"

"Sometimes doing the right thing can land you in trouble or cause you pain. But you did it anyway, so I'm proud you're man enough to do that," Tony elaborated, pulling into the garage. "We're here, come on. We can't have the goons think that we're not coming. Clint'll hog all the candy."

Peter dashed to walk in-step with Tony, pressing his fingers against each of the cars as they passed them. "Do you think anyone else is wearing a costume?"

"I sure hope they do. If they're not, you have permission to web them up a makeshift costume," Tony told him even though he was dead certain that everyone was wearing a costume. Steve had promised, and even after everything. Tony knew he could trust Steve on this.

tinman: _We're here_.

il mio soldatino: _We're ready for you._

They went to the communal floor, and Peter grinned when he saw the lavish decorations that filled the room. There was a pumpkin- obviously designed by different people because some looked like they were made by preschoolers while others looked like professional art- on almost every surface. There were orange and black streamers and webs on the walls, as well as a big canvas painting of… ghosts?

Tony wasn't sure what the fuck it was but it was creepy as hell. Creepier than hell, if that was possible.

It had faceless people standing in the middle of a forest, black smeared all over where their features would be, the darkness looming behind them. But the implied threat was not the darkness, for the darkness seemed to come from the figures themselves. The source of the threat was the people themselves and the one being threatened was the viewer.

Tony hated it.

There were orange, black and white balloons in every corner and Tony could see that everyone had actually dressed up in costumes. "Anthony! I love this Midgardian tradition!" he shouted, wearing a gladiator costume that left most of his chest bare, Sam Wilson sitting smugly beside him. "I am overjoyed at being included in this celebration. Though I do wish that my brother was here to be with us. Perhaps next year he will be, I am sure he would love to be included in this festive occasion."

Tony gave him a tight smile, his mind flashing with that event that they all silently agreed to never speak of again. Loki had left two weeks ago, the day somber and eventful. Tony had to speak to several people to guarantee that Loki would be able to return when he was done visiting his lover on another planet and Loki had made his gratefulness clear when he gave Tony a simple crystal, winking at him before he walked towards the portal.

"What is this?" Tony called after him, holding the bright cerulean stone in his hands, which was roughly the size of a rock he could find at the beach. The smooth texture of the stone felt right in his hands, the stone glowing and pulsing lightly.

Loki gave him a smile over his shoulder. "Figure it out, genius." And with that, he stepped into the portal and disappeared, leaving Tony with a cerulean stone in his hand and a confused bunch of SHIELD people who were torn between demanding for the crystal in case it was dangerous and trying not to offend Tony.

In the end, half settled for staying silent and the rest just gave Tony wide-eyed looks as he turned and left. It was Thor who eventually asked to hold it, holding it delicately between his thick fingers, trying to understand his brother's riddle. "It cannot be," he'd murmured repeatedly until Tony's patience snapped into two and turned into dust.

"What can it not be?"

Thor kept on rolling it between his fingers, not looking away. "It is the crystal of dreams and hearth," Thor said, "It was once created to reunite warriors with their families during battles for small lengths of time until they could return home- a tradition which stretched on for centuries. After that, it became a stone to help people learn what their heart most desired and then gave a path to reach that dream. It is a powerful stone and had been believed to be gone in the late 1200's. I am in awe to find that it has survived, even if it is only a small portion of the size it once was."

Thor handed the crystal back over to Tony. "He gave it to you," Thor said, a soft sad-happy smile on his face. "You should take care of it. You are the first mortal in centuries to touch it."

So Tony did the only thing possible: he studied the stone, spent nights sitting outside his mansion with the crystal in his hands, staring at the sky and trying to figure out what his heart most wanted. Yet all he got was a barrage of color and lights dancing behind his eyes like constellations unfolding, a murmuring in his mind that quieted all the other racing thoughts, something soft as a whisper and as soothing as an embrace. It felt like he was being engulfed by the space, as if all the stars themselves had personally taken notice of him, an insignificant speck in the universe, and had decided that he was something worth their time.

It felt like home.

But he still didn't know where that was. No amount of ancient magic could quell the confusion and indecisiveness on the matter nor decide for him.

That was his journey and his alone, apparently.

He decided to put the stone in a bracelet so that he could carry it around, pressing his fingers against the shatter-proof glass encasing it when he needed to feel the familiar humming to focus his mind. It helped him concentrate and keep from tumbling into the darker corners of his mind.

"Yeah well, I'm glad you like Halloween," Tony said, smiling at Thor. "I always found this particular holiday pretty fun compared to the others."

Peter stood in front of Thor, holding out a simple green and gold scarf which Thor put on without question. Tony shared a look with Peter, agreeing with the decision to put Thor in Gryffindor. "Welcome to Gryffindor, Mr. Thor!"

Thor nodded like he understood, which Tony found very doubtful. The man still asked people to send ravens to communicate a message, although he'd somewhat gotten the hang of using a cell phone.

At that moment, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes walked in with Bruce Banner. Bruce wore a simple surgeon's outfit, complete with a hospital mask and scrub cap that he probably got from the medical bay.

"Not fair!" Tony cried when he saw it. "That doesn't count- you're a real doctor! Not this type of doctor, sure, but c'mon." He stepped closer to Bruce, who only gave him a smile as he tried to persuade the gentle doctor to change into an actual costume. "Brucie. Darling. Please. You're a doctor in real life. Change to something else. A vampire, a werewolf, even a goddamn cop. This does not count as a costume!"

Bruce grinned softly, looking up at Tony with amusement. "Tony, it's Halloween and I wanted to be a surgeon. Besides, I'm a scientist, I don't do surgery. It's okay, right?"

And Tony looked into those soft brown eyes and knew he'd lost the goddamn fight. "Fine," he groaned, giving Bruce a wink to show he was joking as he turned to face the other attendees.

Bucky had donned a nice pirate costume, his metal arm painted brown to look like wood, hair tied back messily, a simple black eyepatch over his right eye. "Evenin', matey," Bucky said in a dead-serious pirate accent, eliciting a badly concealed giggle from Peter.

Tony canted his head, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting into laughter. "Evening," he said, crossing his arms and refusing to start laughing as Peter looped a Hufflepuff scarf around Bucky's neck. Bucky maintained his eye contact with Tony throughout it, not breaking character- Tony had to hand it to him, he looked like a goddamn pirate.

And as for Steve…

Steve wore a soft beige sweater underneath overalls, one of the shoulders unfastened, paint smeared all over his fingers and clothes. He looked beautiful in the same way the men in flower crowns and sunrises were; he looked delicate and soft as putty, as bright as the sun and just as hot to the touch.

Tony was suddenly flooded by the understanding of why Icarus chose to fall. To come as close to the sun was much preferable to staying in the cold even though you knew the dangers of flying too close to the sun.

And _knowing_ that there was something bright and warm somewhere beyond the line you were allowed to go was a risk worth pursuing when all you've ever felt was the cold tendrils of darkness.

Tony would always fall, he knew that now. If he went too high, if he went too far, he would burn like a comet ripping through the sky and crash. He would fall.

But if he stayed too low, he would fall too. He would hit the icy and merciless depths and plunder downwards, wings washed away by the sharp teeth of the waves biting into his skin, heart claimed by the ice.

He would fall then too.

He wasn't paying attention before. He hadn't noticed it before.

No matter what happened, he would fall.

Yet Tony wanted, at that moment, nothing more than to close the space between them and push Steve against the wall; Tony want to breathe in the essence of him like it was the only thing his lungs would accept.

He was ready to fall.

But he didn't do what his bones begged him to do, ignoring the whispers of desire in his mind.

Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and gave Steve a politician's smile. Polite, diplomatic, free of the passion and fire that raged underneath his veins. "Lookin' great, Cap. I love this look on you."

Steve's lips parted into a smile. "Thank you, Tony. You look great."

Bruce looked between the two of them with an awkward smile, letting Peter put on a Ravenclaw scarf over him, thanking the kid who flashed him a smile before running to put one on Rhodey. Rhodey was dressed in a dark trenchcoat and flannel and had several prop guns strapped to him.

"Who are you, Mr. Rhodes?" Peter asked as he pulled out another Hufflepuff scarf, which Rhodey put on after a soft sigh.  
  
"Rufus Turner," he responded, and Peter nodded in spite of not knowing who that was at all.

Steve turned just as Peter popped up. "Peter! How are you, kid?"

"I'm good, Mr. Rogers, sir!" Peter responded, handing a scarf over hesitantly. Tony watched with interest as Steve took the proffered scarf with only a confused gaze.

Bruce hummed around his drink meaningfully, nodding in approval.

"Um, wouldn't Steve be a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin?" Clint asked, confused. He didn't know much about the Harry Potter movies, but wasn't Gryffindor for the brave and Slytherin for the deceivers and Crabbe and Goyle's?

"He's a Slytherin! He's ambitious- obvious by the way he cheated on his test exams when joining the military. He's resourceful because he managed to survive and overcome the odds and find creative solutions to problems. And he's determined to achieve his goals," Bruce cut in softly, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his scrubs as he talked, looking at Steve like he was a puzzle. When he finished his spiel, he met Tony's approving eyes.

Clint blinked, taking that in as he popped some chocolate in his mouth. "I… I guess that's a… good analyzation of him. What am I?"

"Hufflepuff."

"Slytherin."

"Gryffindor."

"An idiot."

Clint shot a glare at Natasha for the last comment, before he turned to Peter, Tony, and Bruce for an elaboration on why they thought he was in one of the three houses. "Am I not smart enough to be Ravenclaw?"

"Not your defining trait," Tony responded seriously, looking like he was doing some complex mathematical equation behind his eyes. Clint was torn between laughing and rolling his eyes at the three nerds trying to decipher which house he was in. "But as for your resourcefulness and determination to succeed… I mean, it's pretty obvious you're in Slytherin."

Bruce shook his head. "He clearly values loyalty and working hard over cunning and success. I think that would clearly make him a Hufflepuff. His personality does match with it, to an extent."

"But he's brave! He's daring and courageous and he's willing to put everything at risk for the right thing," Peter interjected, tapping his chin with his forefinger. "He's Gryffindor."

They discussed briefly before three eyes darted to him. "What do you value most?" Tony asked. "Bravery and risk-taking, loyalty and dedication, or resourcefulness and wit?"

Clint paused. He valued all of them. But his resourcefulness had dragged him out of a tough situation more than once and he couldn't deny that it was one of the things he valued most because he relied on it to survive.

But that was a Slytherin trait.

But then again, Steve was currently wearing a Slytherin scarf, so… "Resourcefulness."

And just like that, the three of them heaved a collective sigh and Peter handed him a scarf like he was being honored for a great deed he'd done. Clint nodded and put it on, humoring the kid that reminded him of his children in spite of the twinge in his chest. "Thank you. I'm glad to know what I am now."

Peter beamed before he bounced off to answer the door, saying that his buddy Ned was here.

Tony caught Steve's eyes from across the room, standing next to Rhodey as Rhodey pumped out some fresh tunes on the turntable and mixer. It jarred Tony how out of place Steve looked standing in the middle of the room with his arms by his side, eyes unguarded for a sliver of a second as he looked around the room.

When Tony had first seen him walk in, all he'd seen was the cute outfit and soft smile, but now that Steve wasn't smiling or putting up a pretty mask to hide the truth underneath, Tony saw the exhaustion behind his eyes. He saw the human man with callused hands and sleepless nights and a warm voice in the morning behind the straight back and polite smile.

He saw _his_ Steve. And a piece of his heart fluttered against his own wishes like a seed being planted in the middle of a forest after a forest fire, promising that perhaps the barren wasteland may contain life once again and some colorful pinks and blues might break up the gray and black ashes scattered everywhere.

For the first time in an eternity, his vision cleared and he saw the vivid contrast of colors that were splattered all over Steve's cardigan sweater and overalls, and the soft blond of his hair and the tenderness of his eyes that were the color of the sea when the summer sky began to transition into the evening. The depth in them was tantalizing and beautiful in the way that ancient ruins and old portraits were, alluring in the same way that the ocean was, deep and dark and stormy.

"Tony!" he heard and he blinked, the colors fading back to their usual shades and the sounds of the party reaching his ears again.

He turned to face Clint, who handed him a (thankfully) non-alcoholic drink and gave him a smile, clapping him on the back as he kept going on with drinks in his hands to pass to the others.

When he looked towards Steve once more, all he saw was Steve's back as he conversed with Natasha and a piece of him ached. They were close.

Tony could feel that.

They were _close_.

But they still had far to go.

\--

Tony let out a soft sigh as he settled against the bed, stretching his sore muscles. The night had gone well and Peter had a great time with the Avengers and Ned, his bubbly rambling filling the night with his references and teenager jokes. As Tony observed him he could see that Peter was happy throughout the party; he wasn't certain if that would stay with Peter when the night was dark and silent, but it was all that Tony could do for now.

The biggest burden of fatherhood was accepting that he couldn't take Peter's pain away no matter how much he wished it was possible for him to do so.

The night had continued in a light manner, filled with music and games and dancing and jokes among friends. It was a break from the distance between them, a night that they could all pretend that they were complete again and nothing had happened to break them apart. It was easy to fall into the camaraderie of the room and without thinking about it Tony had found himself laughing with them and feeling like he truly belonged in the compound again.

It was a welcome feeling that made his bones warm and made his head hum pleasantly.

tinman: _Hey, thanks for tonight. I'm really happy with how it turned out._

[il mio soldatino changed his nickname to Steve Rogers]

Steve Rogers: _You're welcome. I'm glad that I was able to help. I really liked Peter's friend as well. They're both good kids and seem very bright for someone their age._

[tinman changed Steve Rogers to Help I've Fallen and I can't get up]

tinman: _The kids are the future, Stevie._

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _You looked wonderful tonight, Tony. I can't say I understand what any of the references meant, but you looked very good in that costume. Peter explained what a Ravenclaw is and I think the house is perfect for you. Your mind is brilliant and breathtaking._

The problem was that although Tony wasn't the type to write odes to his lover and write about how their eyes shined when the sun hit them just right or how their muscles stretched over their body or how their lips could chase the damnation from Tony's tongue, Steve was. Steve was the type of lover to dedicate art to your body and make poems about the simplest things but make it sound so devastatingly beautiful that it made Tony's heart feel full to the point of breaking because he knew he would never hear anything as touching again.

Until Steve gave him another poem, and another after that. It was one thing which never failed to make Tony fall a little more in love with the man.

tinman: _Aw, you sure know how to make a guy blush. Thank you. You looked dashing as well._

tinman: _And of course you didn't understand it, you fossil, you fell asleep halfway through the first movie and never watched any of the others. You cultureless heathen._

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _I wasn't wearing a costume._

tinman: _That makes it even better, in my extremely humble opinion ;) ;) ;)_

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so listen... I'm taking ICT at the moment so if I update late, please find it in your heart to forgive me. I'm trying to learn how to make an AI so I can create JARVIS, okay? Okay. 
> 
> Now that we got that out of the way- serious angst up ahead.


	10. Hand In Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a battle to be fought, a letter to be addressed, and grief to be shared.

It was supposed to be a simple mission.

That was what they told Tony and Peter.

There was a novice mystic who was testing out their powers in some store, causing a general uproar among the people who were there. In and out, they said. No need for Thor, Clint or Natasha, apparently.

Apparently nobody thought that it was worth mentioning that this "novice mystic" was capable of controlling two weird creatures beside her that weren't afraid to bite _through steel_ , nor that the uproar was caused by the fact that the mystic was testing out mind control powers to flash everyone's most painful memories to the front of their minds. At least one man crumpled to his knees in tears, two teenagers ended up having panic attacks, and a former marine attacked another shopper with a clothes hanger she found.

All in all, it was a shit-show and was definitely not an in-and-out mission.

Tony was thankful for the fact that with his suit on, the mystic wasn't able to mess with his mind. God only knew how bad could go to worse if he was in a suit while having flashbacks. "Pete, how are things holding up?" Tony asked as he aimed and fired at one of the weird sand-looking creatures.

"You're, like, 5 feet away, Mr. Stark," Peter responded, a small huff in his voice. "And I'm not feeling any of the effects of the magic. Are you?"

Tony fired again, hitting the damned thing in the leg. "No, the suit seems to block out her mind magic."

Peter tried webbing up the creature, but the thing only grew agitated. It was, apparently, rather difficult to web up sand. "What the hell are these things, Mr. Stark?"

"Language," Steve said through the comm, throwing his shield at the sand creature and scowling when it didn't affect it in the slightest. He threw the shield again just as Tony fired off a round, ducking to keep from getting hit by the blast. "It's some type of sand creature, impervious to most things. It reforms over and over and doesn't seem to have a weak spot. What's the plan, Tony?"

Tony looked around the chaos of the store and sighed. This wasn't going to work. "Sam, Rhodey, you two escort the civilians out and make sure they're safe. Have Bruce look them over- keep him away from the mind-controlling-mystic-lady because we can't handle a mind-controlled Hulk right now. Peter, try to find a way to trigger the fire sprinkler. Maybe water'll dissolve these sons of bitches to mush. Bucky and Steve, try to handle the mystic as non-murderously as possible."

Bucky nodded, his arm currently painted a vivid purple after he'd lost a bet with Clint. "And what about you?"

Tony seemed to debate something momentarily. "I'm going to make a call."

"A call?" Steve repeated, throwing his shield again and wincing at the loudness of the resulting bang. His hands trembled slightly as he clenched them around the shield, memories of war flashing through his mind. "To who?"

"Someone who'll be able to help us," Tony responded, pushing his suit up towards the ceiling. "An old friend, you could say."

Steve watched Tony fly out of the building with a confused look but focused on the lady who was firing boulder after boulder at them. He did his best to block it with his shield while Bucky focused more on shooting the boulders or catching them with his bare hands and throwing them back.

Peter swung through the store trying to find something flammable, cursing when Sandshrew spat a giant rock at him. "Hey! I don't remember that from the game. Then again, I haven't played Pokemon in, like, ten years. I mean, no offense, I've been wanting to play Pokemon Go but-" He yelped when one of the rocks hit his calf, mentally cursing and pulling over one of the tables over to act as his shield.

"Peter, report!" Steve said through the comm, and Peter wondered how to explain that he was currently hiding behind a table because Sandshrew was using moves that were not in the game.

"Um… Sandshrew backed me into a corner before I could find something flammable- but I can handle it, no problem! Just give me a minute and I'll find what Mr. Stark wants me to find." He flinched when what sounded like a lash hit the table.

_Where the heck is Thor in times like this? That rain would sure be appreciated right about now._

Well, there wasn't much else to do now except for either wait for the table to give or to run. With that thought, Peter threw the table at the Sandshrews and began his mad dash away. "Peter!" Steve yelled, calling him over and throwing the shield to buy them time. "Are you injured?" He dashed beside Peter, having left Bucky to deal with the lady momentarily while he made sure that Peter was safe.

When they returned to Bucky, Bucky's complexion was pale, sweat covering his forehead.

"Just a scratch on the calf, nothing serious, sir." At least, it didn't feel serious. He hadn't exactly had the time to sit down and catalog every injury he'd sustained fighting sand pokemon. "Are you alright, Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky gave him a sharp nod.

Steve looked between the two of them. "Alright, I think the best plan right now would be to-" he stopped talking when Tony fell out of the ceiling, almost hitting the ground before he righted himself, aiming for the sand creatures and firing. Another person fell from the ceiling, but rather than falling ungracefully, the man levitated himself to the ground with his cloak billowing around him, bright green light surrounding him as he waved his hands. "Another mystic?"

"Master of the Mystic Arts, actually," the man responded, walking towards their local mad mystic calmly. "It's time for this to end, soul-seller. What master do you serve?"

The lady grinned, adopting a more casual stance. "I serve Gaea, the universal mother, and the first deity. With my aide, she will be restoring the Earth to its former greatness."

Stephan rolled his eyes. "Yes, with _your help,_ quote unquote. That sounds familiar, which might be due to the fact that I've heard that exact line 5 times this month. Gaea is a liar and will never give you what you truly seek." He stretched out his hand, reversing the chaos that the young mystic had caused, leaving everything in pristine shape. Bucky let out a soft sigh in relief as his mind was freed from the darkness that had clouded it. "Surrender yourself over, else risk banishment from this realm."

The lady charged forward and Stephen opened a portal, sending her into an alternative universe where she wouldn't be able to cause any more trouble. Tony landed and gave Stephen a smile. "Thanks for that. She was really getting irritating."

Stephen frowned, picking up a set of flowers from the floor where the lady had been standing only a few seconds ago. Anemone, Chamomile, and Rhododendron. Forsaken, energy in adversity, beware. "There's no problem but I have a feeling that she might have cast a-" he stopped when the sound of cracking filled the mall and the ground began to shake. "Get everyone out! She cast a goddamn spell to leave destruction in her wake."

Tony zoomed away. "I'll make sure the building is cleared. Friday, scan the store, look for heat signals."

"Peter, get out of the building it's about to collapse." He switched to the general channel. "Everyone out. The building's about to get turned into dust."

Tony kept flying around, making sure that there were no civilians still inside before he began his flight outwards.

"Stark, hurry! We have less than ten seconds before this exact spot turns into a crater," Stephen whispered in Tony's mind- which, really, was sorta an invasion of mental privacy, but given the situation, he decided to forgive it. "Almost everyone is outside already."

Tony pushed his suit to 75% flying capacity and made it just in time to hear the foundation of the building creaking and crackling. He saw Bucky sitting beside Sam, Bruce checking the injuries on Steve's arms.

Rhodey looked at him, then behind him. "Where's Peter?"

"What do you mean? Isn't he here yet? I told him-"

The comm in Tony's ear crackled to life. "Mr. Stark? I'm stuck."

"Shit! He's not out yet!" He turned around and flew back into the crumbling store, ignoring Stephen's warning about time and danger, his heart pounding in his ears as he tried to look for the familiar red and blue suit amidst all the dust and falling pieces of rock. "Friday, look for Peter's suit."

The time it took for Peter to track down the suit felt like an eternity like it always did before the heavens came crashing down. He flew around the room, frantic, veins alight with panic, his mind in a state of disarray.

"Peter!" he yelled when Friday finally found Peter's heat signature. He was crumpled on the ground, maskless, limp as the building shook and fell to chaos around him. Tony landed in front of him, kneeling, his heart still drumming behind his eyes. They didn't have a lot of time. "Peter, come on, buddy, wake up. We haven't got a lot of time. You're alright. You have to be, please, Peter, you're all I have left. Peter!"

Peter roused slightly, opening his eyes and looking around. "Mr. Stark?" he asked, confusion tinging his hoarse voice. "Where-"

A deafening crack echoed through the building and Tony knew there was no time to get out. All they could do now was hope. Peter's fingers clung to him as the ceiling fell on top of them, his eyes terrified as Tony tried to protect him with his own body, removing his mask and putting it on Peter. For a while, all Tony was aware of was the sensation of the weight piling on top of him, dust filling his lungs, the sounds of the building breaking and crashing making his ears ring.

Then it stopped, and Tony realized that they were both pinned underneath the concrete, Peter laying on the ground beneath him, miraculously untouched by the wreckage. "Okay. This is… okay," Tony said, trying to forget the way that Peter's eyes had looked earlier, as if he'd touched the darkest pits of hell itself and came back screaming. "Peter?"

"I'm scared," Peter responded, voice small and still filled with a gut-wrenching terror.

Tony coughed from the dust, looking up. All he could see were the gray slabs of concrete. "They'll be looking for us by now. It's okay. I'm here. You're not alone."

They were in a devastating situation that could end in tragedy for both of them yet somehow, the loudest thing in Tony's mind was from that musical that Peter made him listen to. They both hated tight spaces for two different reasons, but right now, with Tony bearing the weight of the fallen building, he almost felt like he'd done something right. Peter was safe.

Things were okay.

"My son… Look at my son," Tony sang softly, voice slightly pinched but he wasn't exactly trying to sing for an audience. He was singing to soothe his son until help came for them. "Pride is not the word I’m looking for. There is so much more inside me now."

Peter's trembling eased, his fingers still holding onto Tony's arms, the rise and fall of his chest steadying. "My father wasn’t around, I swear that I’ll be around for you."

"Tony?" Stephen asked, and Tony let out a soft breathe. _I'm here_ , he thought back, knowing that Stephen could hear him.

"I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll make a million mistakes... I’ll make the world safe and sound for you."

Stephen, Steve, and Rhodey found them a few minutes later, pulling the concrete off from them and pulling Peter up before helping Tony to his feet. By the time that Tony'd stepped out of his armor, Peter was on the ground, curled up on himself with his head in his hands. Steve and Rhodey stood there as Sam tried to talk to Peter and calm him down.

Tony was struck with how ready everyone was in case if someone had a mental breakdown.

It was almost funny if it wasn't so heartbreaking that all of the heroes had some form of problem that made them likely to have a meltdown. Between Bucky's trauma, Bruce's anger issues, Steve's nightmares, and Clint's depressive moods, everyone knew what to do in case if someone snapped and how to act if someone was, as Bucky would say, a threat level 5-5.

Tony knew that Steve and Rhodey were there for more than just giving comfort.

_In the event of a crisis..._

In the event of a crisis, everyone knew what to do. If someone broke, then everyone else would know how to put them back together and try to minimize the damage they caused while they weren't themselves. 

"It's okay, Peter, I know you're scared. What you went through is pretty scary, and I think you're very strong to be able to get through it. You're having an anxiety attack right now and that's why you can't breathe. Can you do a grounding exercise with me? It'll help you, but you'll need to open your eyes even if only for a few seconds."

Sam looked up at Tony with a nod, and Tony stopped. Even if he wanted nothing more than to come closer, he knew that Peter needed space and that if he interrupted, Peter might go into a sensory overload. "Can you do that for me?"

Peter nodded silently, his chest still rising and falling sporadically as he removed his hands from his face.

"There we go. Can you tell me 5 things you can see?"

Peter frowned, looking around. "The ground, my suit, you, an ambulance, and the sky."

"That's very good, Peter. Can you tell me 4 things you can feel, sensation-wise?"

Peter tried to focus past the thumping of his heart against his ribcage enough to feel anything, which was a hard task because his entire body tingled and felt like it was a second away from floating away. "My heart beating, the ground, my suit sticking to me, the cut on my leg."

They'd need to check that out, Tony noted, but he remained silent. Rhodey moved to stand beside him, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "How you doing, Halfpint?" he asked softly, and Tony looked up at him with a small smile. "Nice voice by the way. I knew you'd get into Hamilton at some point- it was inevitable, really. Everyone falls in love with Hamilton."

Tony laughed, shaking his head, feeling the tightness in him unravel at the familiar feeling of having Rhodey beside him to keep him steady. "How'd you hear that? My helmet was off. Peter was wearing it."

Rhodey shrugged. "He must have triggered the channel somehow. I heard it and I'm pretty sure everyone else did."

_"Please, Peter, you're all I have left!"_

They'd heard that then. Somehow it didn't make Tony feel ashamed or embarrassed. If anything, all he felt was tired. He wasn't exactly raring to have a sparring match after bearing the weight of a collapsed mall a la-Atlas style.

"Way to invade privacy," Tony replied, not commenting as Rhodey kept his arm around him. They both knew that the terror Tony felt when he found out that Peter was inside was the same type of terror that went through Rhodey when he saw Tony go inside the crumbling building. "Strange, can you fix this?"

Stephen nodded, fixing his coat. "Of course. It'll take a bit of time, seeing as she seems determined to be as much of a pain in the ass as possible, but it can be fixed."

"Good. Thank you for coming today, by the way," Tony said, putting his hands into his pockets and leaning against Rhodey in exhaustion. He missed the way that Steve's eyes flicked between him and Stephen, too busy talking to notice. "We couldn't have done it without you."

"I hear Mr. Stark talking, footsteps, and birds," Peter said, his breathing less labored. Sweat still covered his face and his face was still pale, but the trembling of his body had stopped and his body was no longer as taut as a rubber band before snapping.

"It's no problem, Tony. Consider us even, then? I no longer have to carry around the weight of a blood debt," Stephen said with a small laugh.

"2 things you smell?"

Peter stopped, trying to focus enough to smell something. "Dust and sweat."

"And one thing you can taste?"

Peter rolled his tongue around his mouth. "Blood? Yeah, definitely blood."

"That's a problem," Tony remarked, stepping forward and kneeling in front of Peter, putting a hand on Peter's knee. "You alright, kiddo?"

Peter took all of two seconds to launch himself into Tony's arms, clinging onto him like a tailgating high-schooler with a propensity for recklessness and alcoholism. "Hey, you're alright. You hurt?"

Peter's fingers dug into Tony's clothes like he was scared he was going to get ripped away. "You were there this time."

"I'll always be here."

Steve gave them a sad smile, unable to get the sound of Tony's desperate voice from his mind, unable to get the words _"you're all I have left"_ out of his mind. It was a small thing, but it still made him flinch. If they hadn't been able to get Tony and Peter out of there safely, he didn't know what he'd do. And this Strange fellow- where did he come from? How did he know Tony?

There was an easy familiarity between the two of them. So who was this man?

"Tony," Stephen said, calling Tony's attention to him. "I am needed back at the Sanctorum. If you need me again…"

Tony nodded without question, already understanding the implications that Stephen would come when he called. Stephen gave him a small smile before he waved his hand and stepped through a portal. He was gone in the blink of an eye.

\--

tinman: _You have questions._

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _I do not._

tinman: _You always were a horrible liar. So spill. What questions do you have rolling around that pretty noggin of yours?_

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _Who's Doctor Strange? When did you two meet?_

tinman: _Oh_.

tinman: _He's a sorcerer. A master of the supreme arts, greatest mystic, yadda yadda yadda. He's a good ally is what matters. A bit of a douchebag at first, but he's cool once you get past his snark and fake confidence. Any of this sound familiar?_

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: …

tinman: _Anyways, we met a while back. He sees everything, he knows how timelines go and can sorta… tell when something's fucking with reality. So after what happened in Siberia, he paid me a visit to say hello. I guess I was sorta big on his radar and he needed to know that I was not a threat to the universe._

tinman: _So we had pizza. We worked together for a mission or two after that._

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _I'm glad that he was kind to you._

tinman: _Yeah, so am I._

\---

Tony couldn't get the image of Peter's terrified face from his mind. Not even the tinkering could chase away the sound of the building cracking and snapping, the way that Peter had looked on the ground, his head in his hands, his entire body stiff and pulled taut as a bow before shooting forward. There was something heartbreaking about seeing Sam sit in front of Peter, trying to calm him down.

It reminded him of Rhodey hovering over him, trying to help him wind down as his mind raced, trying to keep him steady and anchored when all his mind wanted to do was dissolve. It reminded him of the days he used to spend in therapy, sitting on the corner of the couch, pressing himself as tightly as he could against the edge while still trying his best to look casual and aloof.

It reminded him of the letter that sat on his worktable, calling his name like snakes and silk.

 _To Anthony Edward Stark,_ it read in plain black letters.

As if it was telling him about the light bill and not calling him out on the stagnant relationship between him and Steve Rogers. He let out a loud sigh and picked up a stray circuit board, knowing that there was no way that he'd be getting any rest tonight with all the things that clanged around his brain.

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _Do you think we should go to a couple's therapist?_

tinman: _Do I think we **should** go? I don't know, I don't really like the whole idea of opening myself up emotionally to anyone, but... We have no choice. Fury's already decided we're going, for the benefit of the entire team._

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _Do you think it'll help?_

tinman: _I don't know, Steve. But apparently, we're going next week, so… be ready, I guess. Have you seen a therapist before?_

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _No, but I've considered going after Nick introduced me to one after New York._

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _You've been to one, yes?_

tinman: _Honey, if I hadn't been going I wouldn't be looking quite so good and being quite so stable._

tinman: _The short answer is yes._

tinman: _The long answer is that Nick made me go last time that I had a relapse with my anxiety and (after a lot of kicking and screaming) I went and got diagnosed with PTSD and depression and all that pretty stuff. And now he's making me go again._

tinman: _So I'm mentally spinning a wheel and trying to imagine which diagnosis it'll land on this time._

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _I'm pretty sure that's now how diagnosing a patient works, Tony._

tinman: _Oh, you'll be surprised. I have a picture of my previous therapist spinning the wheel._

tinman: [tinman sent an image]

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _So many talents and yet photoshopping is not one of them._

tinman: _To be fair, that took 5 minutes to make. Also, why are you awake?_

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _It's not my choice to be awake at this ungodly hour. Clint woke me up a little bit ago to ask me if I saw his favorite bow and arrow because he wants to go to the range and can't find his bow._

tinman: _It's… 2 am._

Help I've Fallen and I can't get up: _I am well aware._

\--  
"Hey, Aunt May," Peter said, his voice being carried away by the howling wind as he sat on the ground, staring down at the black plaque with gold letters.

In everlasting memory of May Parker.

1975-2016.

To live in the hearts of those we love is not to die.

Peter swallowed, his chest twinging as he sat there with his reflection staring back at him. "It's almost Christmas," he said, wiping away the smudges from the black granite headstone. "You promised me that you'd make your special mac and cheese last year... You should have taught me your recipe. Mr. Stark tries, but it's not the same- I know he's trying, but… You're the only one who can cook mac and cheese like that."

A chill climbed up and down his spine, goosepimples left in their wake. "Of course, that's not to say you were a particularly _good_ cook, but that one dish…" He let out a sigh, remembering dinners with Uncle Ben and Aunt May, golden memories in time preserved only in his mind now. Something in him crumbled as he realized that now, only _he_ would know about those days in the winter that he'd spent on Uncle Ben's lap or sitting with May as she typed up a thesis, listening to May talk about different topics as she worked.

The best memories they'd shared were his alone now.

"He's taking real good care of me, by the way. Mr. Stark, I mean," Peter said with a soft exhale, trying to stop his hands from trembling. "He's being real good to me, even though I'm not as good as he deserves. As you deserve. I wish I was better for him, May, I do. He deserves someone who isn't as broken as I am. I know he cares about me… I think that makes it worse."

Because Mr. Stark caring about him meant that Peter was hurting _others_ with his inability to get up from the rut he was in. He knew that Mr. Stark cared and that made it worse because he knew he should be better now but he _wasn't_ , and it _still hurt_ , and Mr. Stark wanted to make it better but _nothing_ could make it better.

There was a May-shaped hole in his heart and it was eating at him like acid.

The tears slid down his face like rivers cascading, his shoulders quaking as he kept staring at the words in golden letters. _2016_. It wasn't fair. It was too soon. May deserved to live a longer life. She was supposed to wait until Peter was ready and old enough to know what he was doing. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

They were supposed to have more time.

"Come on, May, get up. Please? It's been too long since I heard your voice. I miss you. I need you. Please. You promised- You promised that you wouldn't- you wouldn't leave me. Please, May," he said, voice cracking as his throat constricted. The sound of gravel crackling reached his ears before a hand came to rest on his shoulder and he trembled violently.

"Come on, Peter," he heard, and he looked up to see Mr. Stark standing there with a sad expression on his face. "You've been here for a few hours now and it's getting cold," he said, helping Peter to his feet. He didn't say anything even as Peter leaned almost all his weight against him, leading him into the car silently as Peter kept crying inconsolably.

Peter sat in the backseat and buried his head in his icy hands, knowing that he was a mess but not knowing what else to do about it. He could feel the currents of sorrow lapping at his knees and he knew that if he stumbled once, he would be whisked away into the depths and he might never crawl back out from the bottom of the ocean. Mr. Stark sat beside him in silence, unjudgmental as Peter dissolved beside him. All he did was wrap an arm around Peter's shoulders, the sound of _Carry On Wayward Child_ filling the car with something other than Peter's sobs.

_Carry on my wayward son_

Peter didn't know if he could keep going. The longing for home left his tongue tasting like ashes and he didn't know what to do as the world spun and twisted around him. He felt like a child standing in a house of mirrors, seeing all the diluted versions of himself staring back at him with hollow eyes. The reflections were almost unrecognizable.

If eyes were the windows to the soul then he was looking into an abandoned house with gray, peeling walls. No amount of painting could erase the weakness of the foundation.

_For there'll be peace when you are done_

He'd felt like this before, when he was still trying to understand himself and figure out his Spider-Man/Peter Parker identity, trying to balance the shift from schoolboy to masked vigilante. He was confused, then. He didn't know how he could keep up the charade of being normal when his body was covered in bruises and a constant desperation tugged at him because he knew he couldn't save everyone. Every time he clicked on the news and he saw a report about another murder, another abduction, another crime he couldn't stop he always felt like he was being shoved under ice water.

He always felt like he was being crushed under concrete and steel pillars. Small, inconsequential, and helpless.

That was how he'd felt standing in the waiting room of the hospital too, waiting for the doctor to come in with a contrite and pinched expression. _I'm sorry, son, we did everything we could but it was too late. I'm sorry for your loss_.

The word **_loss_** had felt like a slap in the face.

His blood thickened behind his eyes, his ears ringing with adrenaline, but there was nothing he could do except for sink to his knees in the hallway with some doctor who didn't know what Peter had lost that day.

_Lay your weary head to rest_

If Peter were there when it had happened, he could have stopped the car. That was what weighed on him the most. He'd stopped cars before in the past when they got too drunk or too tired or too distracted to focus on where they were going, he'd stopped a bus from crashing when the driver fell asleep after working double-job to pay for her kid's tuition, and he'd even stopped two cars from colliding once. He knew that if he were there when May needed him most, he could have jumped in and made sure that she was never hit and he would have gotten a few broken bones at best.

But he wasn't there and now May was gone.

He was tired to the bone and everything hurt in ways that he couldn't even put to words. "Hey, come on, kiddo, you're alright. Just breathe for me. Inhale and exhale, just like we've done before," Mr. Stark said, snapping Peter from his mind and his breath hitched but didn't slow down. He couldn't breathe.

_Don't you cry no more_

By the time they reached the compound, the tears had stopped and he felt all cried out. Mr. Stark gave him a small smile and helped him out of the car, walking with him to his room without saying anything. Peter was glad for it. He didn't know if he had the emotional capacity to actually talk anything through. He was just exhausted enough to sleep for days.

"Do you want me to stay?" Mr. Stark asked as Peter sat down on the bed, taking off his shoes. And when Peter looked at him, he knew that if he said yes, Mr. Stark would actually stay with him. But instead of saying yes, he shook his head because he just wanted to wallow in his pain today. He could pull himself together tomorrow.

Mr. Stark seemed to understand and clicked the lights off. "Call me if you need me for anything, Pete. Stay safe. I'm right here when you need me."

And Peter watched him go before he grabs his pillow and curled up around it, burying his face in the cold case of his pillow and trying to forget that the rest of the world existed.

\--

Tony sat in the lab, absently fiddling with a laser pointer, clicking it on and off and watching the red light as it traced patterns on the opposite wall. He didn't know what to do about Peter nor how to make it better for the kid. Peter had wanted to be alone, and even though Tony wanted to respect that, he couldn't help but worry for the kid because he knew how hard it was to lose a parent or parent figure. When mom had died, he was a complete wreck.

It was then that he found out that his favorite poison was self-destruction.

He was lucky to have Rhodey as his best friend because the guy dragged him out of situation after situation without ever giving up on him no matter how much Tony had told him to go.

_["Please, Rhodey, for your sake I suggest that you just-"_

_"I'm not going anywhere, Tones. We'll fix this, okay?" Rhodey answered, not hesitating in the slightest before he said it._

_"You can't fix what's already broken," Tony had replied, tears in his eyes that he refused to let fall, pressed up against the corner of their room._

_Rhodey sighed, shaking his head. "You're not as broken as you think you are. We **will** get through this- I'm not leavin', Ace. You're stuck with me for better or worse, like it or not."_

_"It'll probably be worse."_

_Rhodey laughed, soft and mirthless as he looked at Tony's red-rimmed eyes and too-thin frame. "Yeah? Well, I'm fine with that too."]_

And with every single atom in Tony, he wanted to be that person for Peter.

The doors slid open behind him and Tony looked at the reflections on the window to see who it was. Peter stood there in a soft gray hoodie, looking tired but less subdued than when he'd asked Tony to go last night. "Hey," Peter said, leaning on the worktable as he looked at Tony through the reflections on the window, hugging himself.

Tony gave him a nod and kept his eyes on the glass that gave them a nice view of the woods and the city beyond it, the sky turning from orange to light blue. "Morning, Pete," Tony responded, "How did you sleep?"

Peter hummed, picking lint off of his sweater idly. "I slept pretty good, actually. I dreamed about swimming at the beach and flying. It was a pretty good dream."

"Yeah?"

Something flickered in Peter's eyes, but he decided to nod in lieu of saying anything else. "Yeah."

The silence stretched on too long and Tony couldn't take it anymore. He patted the empty seat beside him and turned around. "Come here, Pete." Peter blinked as if he was being snapped out of a trance and stepped forward shakily.

"Oh. Right."

He took a seat beside Tony, curling into him easily like he always did when he was upset. It didn't take long for Tony to figure out that Peter was a touchy type of kid, the kind that desperately needed touch to anchor him. When nothing else seemed to work, a nice hug would sometimes do a lot more than words ever could, so Tony slowly got used to having the kid wrap around him like an octopus. Even if he didn't admit it, he actually found it kind of nice that Peter would trust him enough to let himself show vulnerability like that.

At Peter's age, Tony had learned better than that. If Tony were to show that kind of softness- weakness, Howard would call it- Tony would have gotten a slap across the face and a heap of cutting words. So Tony learned not to show that softness, learned how to hide it with sarcasm and aloofness and masks to hide that he was afraid and hurting.

To see that innocence in Peter only made Tony want to protect him even more.

Tony wanted to keep that innocence alive just a little bit longer.

"You doing alright, buddy?" Tony asked, his fingers already running their way through Peter's soft hair. Peter hummed in response, leaning against his chest like a lost child. "What d'you wanna do today? We could go to the park or something, maybe to Church if you'd like. What do you wanna do?"

Peter was silent for a long time, staring at his hands. "Can we-" he cleared his throat. "Can we just stay home and… do something?"

They headed to the living room, where the others were already sitting, boxes of takeout on the table. Steve met Tony's eyes with a small nod, gesturing to the two boxes that were left untouched.

"Ah," Thor said gently. "Peter. I was going to call you from your rooms, but the others said to leave you undisturbed for you were plagued with sorrows. Are you well now, little one?"

Peter gave him a small and tired smile. "No, but I'm getting there," he said, taking one of the boxed and plopping down on the couch. It was, after all, the truth. Now that he'd cried himself out, he felt a little less like he was burning. It ached, but it was the familiar ache that had followed him since that day.

"What's got you so mournful, if you do not mind an old man's imploring nature?" Thor asked, missing the warning gaze that Tony threw his way.

Peter shrugged, too tired to hide it. "My aunt died today last year. I mean, she was sorta like a mom to me, you know? She might not have been my actual mom but she was the only mom I had. She was the only person I had for a while, and then I lost her too. I miss her." He picked at the lint on his sweater, pulling on a string until it snapped off. "It's probably stupid, I mean, I know I should be stronger than this, but I miss her, and it hurts."

He hesitated before looking up again, afraid of the pity or confusion about why he was so emotional over something so simple when there were wars to be fought and people to be saved.

He knew that his stance among the Avengers was flimsy at best because he was young and inexperienced and they were brave and strong and didn't have panic attacks because of broken elevators. If they found out he was weak, then what would they think? They'd think he was some stupid kid who had no place being there, some weak kid who couldn't even handle tight spaces without crying.

But when he finally gathered the will to look up, there wasn't a single judgmental face in the room.

Instead, understanding and sadness met his eyes.

"Grief is no small thing," Sam said, and Peter met his eyes gratefully, still thankful for what happened at the mission. He'd have to make sure to get the guy something nice to show his thanks. "It doesn't matter what caused it- if it hurts, it hurts. There's no logic-ing pain. You can get used to the pain of a bruise, but that doesn't mean that the bruise doesn't exist, kid. Pain and hurt isn't weakness- everyone feels it. We're all human, we all feel pain, there's nothing stupid or weak about being human."

For a few seconds, nobody spoke and the words etched their way into Peter's mind.

He'd spent so long hiding…

"I agree with Samuel that we all suffer from our own sorrows," Thor said, "I myself have experienced much hardship that still takes its toll on me today. I have lost both of my parents, and my brother- _numerous_ times- and it is never something which I can call stupid or meaningless. It's a heart-wrenching and torturous pain which continues like waves throwing you about, an eternal agony which feels like there is a missing part of you."

Peter's eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them away, nodding. "I understand."

Tony took a bite of the orange chicken, swallowing before he spoke. "We've all got memories that haunt us, Pete. We've all got emotional baggage- mine is designer, of course. I _need_ designer if I want to successfully lug it around without any of that messy emotional shit spilling out at inopportune times."

Steve nodded. "That's true. There is no use in being ashamed of something that can't be helped. I still have nightmares about the war, about losing the people I care about, about everything that's happened between waking up from the ice and now."

So the team continued to talk. They talked about fears and bad memories and things they carried with them.

Bucky mentione losing his dad during the war, eyes sad but unguarded, his fingers idly twirling a plastic fork as he spoke bluntly.

Steve talked about losing his mother and having to move in with Bucky, who said that he didn't have to be alone anymore, in grief or in life. He talked about how it felt to be suddenly anchorless in a wild universe, how he floated his way through the funeral and came home to cry until there was nothing left to cry.

He talked about the broken wall and the way he'd screamed out at night for Sarah, then about Bucky's mother making him brownies so that when he woke up he'd have something to eat; he talked about Bucky's mother holding him when he felt like he was the last person on Earth.

_"It's okay to ask for help, Peter."_

Natasha talked about her fear of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, speaking with her teeth clenched and her hands balled into fists as if she was going against her coding by admitting such weakness to the team.

_"Nobody's immune to fear, маленький паук. Some of us just know how to close our eyes to it. But hearts cannot be closed to it."_

Tony's eyes flew up to her in surprise when she spoke, but when she gave Peter a small smile and a tub of ice cream, he thought that he understood a little bit more. Tough as she was, it seemed that even Natasha Romanova, the Black Widow, world-famous assassin and spy, was not immune to the kid's charm.

Bruce talked about his own parents, about the way his dad drank too much and hit too often, about how his family life was a constant ping-ponging of _we're leaving_ and _we're staying_ because his mom was too indecisive and had nowhere else to go.

He talked about how small he felt when his father's shadow loomed over him, how he spent nights in closets and cabinets after his father threw him in.

He talked about how his mother finally drove off one day but his father caught up with them by the river and his father beat his mother from one side of the road to the next. He mentioned how the words "devil boy" followed him around in his dreams until now and how it felt to see your own mother die in front of you as you sat helplessly in the car with tears pouring down your face.

_That was how the Hulk was created, he said._

They all took their turns speaking about their sadness, and by the end of it, Peter was pressed up against Tony, sitting in the middle of the couch with Steve on his other side. His eyes are dry from all the tears that he'd shed, but he felt a little lighter. As Steve put it, he didn't feel like he had to carry around everything alone anymore.

He understood the Avengers a little better, and now he knew that he didn't have to be something other than himself to be an Avenger.

He could be Peter Parker at home- the kid who built Lego sets and cried at night when he remembered the falling building. He could be all soft curves and worn clothes, gentle smiles, and warm hugs- he could be someone who made robots and fell asleep while stuck to the ceiling.

And he could be Spider-Man when the world needed him- the hero who rushed into danger to keep civilians from getting hurt, the one who marched at the front-lines of battle because to stay silent was to perpetuate a broken system, the one who raised his fist to let the world know where he stood (and it was with the people).

He could be a human and still be a hero. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-read. In this house we die like men. Tune in for more, updates every other Tuesday! I can't seem to stop writing this story.
> 
> Someone free me.
> 
> Note: Only accepting negativity in the form of Morse Code or Shakespearean insults! :)


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